A Harry Potter Miscellany
by Renatus
Summary: Unrelated Harry Potter fanfic ideas. Variety of stuff, some more polished than others, some long, some drabbles, some in multiple chapters. Ch26 Elemental 01. Ch27 Founders Four 01. Ch28 Bread & Spectacle.
1. Solvo Vita 01

Solvo Vita 01

**Please Note: **That these chapters are NOT one storyline, and many are unrelated. This is simply a mass dump of various scenes, story ideas, and miscellaneous dialogues that are not formed into a cohesive story or plot (no matter how much they may seem like they are). I post them here because they are interesting ideas, and I like to share. If there are multiple postings from the same story/plot than the chapters will be titled the same & numbered in order. Thanks.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Solvo Vita 01**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

"_The present and the future are most affected by the same thing: the past."_

Harry Potter stood along the railing of the rickety paddle boat, looking over the blue-black waters of the Mediterranean. Distant lights marked the shoreline of Northern Africa and its muggle towns.

The rough wood of the rail scraped his palms as he leaned precariously out over the water. He searched its depth for the silver flashes that marked the passing of fish in the moonlight.

"If you lean any further, you'll join the bloody fish in their natural habitat." A bored drawl came from his side, "Usually I wouldn't offer warning, but cats, lions and Gryffindors aren't great swimmers, I hear."

Harry hid his smile but didn't reply to the taunt; instead he continued to watch for the fish. There. A slash of silver sparkled below the waves. A Silvertail.

"Severus would love to acquire some of them, no doubt." The voice at his shoulder commented, "He'd be distracted for days, pouring over stinking fish entrails and fermenting cauldrons."

Harry chuckled.

"He'd walk around in a daze for weeks while he plotted how to best fillet them all for some hair-brained idea of a potion." His companion continued, "Actually, he'd more likely rot down in his lab because he forgot to eat, sleep and leave the door unlocked so someone else can tell him to eat and sleep before he rotted away."

Harry whole-heartedly agreed with this view, but still didn't reply, only letting a small smile to appear as evidence that he even heard his friend.

"Don't suppose we could bring some back with us." It wasn't really a question, he was just talking. "Although, I'm not entirely sure we should," the man continued in his drawl, "He'll smell like fish for a month. I don't know about you, but I doubt I'd be able to handle it. The smell would probably rub off on me."

Harry looked over his shoulder at his companion; the slight form leaning casually against the railing. The moonlight made his white blonde hair look silver, and his pale skin glow.

"Of course it would always give me a reason to avoid him." He was rambling, gazing up at the stars, "Yet he'd have both of us for potions ingredients if we didn't return with some of the bloody fish."

Harry smiled.

"Do you know how to fish, Draco?" Harry asked, pulling himself back and leaning on the rail next to his friend. Draco's eyes widened as he turned to face Harry.

"Malfoy's do not fish like muggles, Potter."

Harry smiled again and turned back to looking out over the water. The shoreline was closer now.

"I suppose one of your muggle friends taught you how?"

"Gordon did." Harry said, deciding no to remind Draco that said muggle friend was also a friend of the Slytherin's.

"Hmph." Came the muffled reply.

"But there's an easier way." Harry said. He pulled an object from his pocket and waved his wand over it, muttering a spell. The object enlarged, revealing some sort of chest or box. Harry set it on the deck by his feet and pulled another object from his robes, enlarging it as well. Harry waved the pole in the air a bit, its ten foot length reaching out over the water.

"What in Merlin's name is that for?" Draco scoffed.

"Patience, Malfoy." Harry smirked, and lowered the rod so it was vertical. A wave of his wand and the rod was connected to the railing, its other end dragging in the water below. Harry pocketed his wand and spoke to the blackish-green snake draped around his shoulders. The snake hissed a reply and unfurled its long coils, slithering down Harry's arm to the railing. With another hissed exchange, the snake wrapped itself around the pole and slid down to the water, disappearing under the waves.

"Are you going to explain, Potter, or do I have to figure it out for myself?"

Harry looked at Draco with a carefully blank face and was rewarded with one slender eyebrow raised expectedly. He decided to give the Slytherin what he wanted.

"Gordon is quite fond of the muggle technique of fishing, and after he taught me the trick of it, I decided to show him how a wizard fishes." Harry returned to watching the water, a smirk on his face, "or at least how a Parselmouth fishes."

"Mm-hmm."

"Nyssan's bite can be fatal, but as she is of the magical variety she can change the nature of her venom to suit her needs." Harry said distractedly, "Egyptian Temple Lasps can stun their victims with a venom that completely disappears from their systems within a few hours. She's quite good at fishing, once she learned how to swim." Harry said proudly.

"So, Severus can't complain about tainted supplies." Draco said, eyeing the dark water.

"Mm-hmm." Harry acknowledged. A moment of silence passed.

"So, where's your great companion now?"

Harry smirked, "Fishing."

Draco mumbled something about Gryffindors which Harry chose to ignore.

"There." Harry said, pointing to the water. A silver flash of irredescent scales marked to passage of a Silvertail. The two men watched as it disappeared with a splash.

Draco raised an eyebrow at his companion.

"Wait." Harry said, a smile playing at his lips. Draco snorted, and turned back to the water. A moment passed before the snake's dark form began slithering up the pole out of the water, a silver fish clutched in its coils. Harry grinned as he pulled his wand.

"Accio Silvertail." He said and the fish flew through the air into Harry's waiting hand.

"Impressive," Draco said, "I suppose you're rather proud of yourself now."

Harry hummed a reply.

Draco remained silent, a feat he had utterly failed at for the majority of their journey, as Harry placed the fish in the chest at his feet. He hissed at the snake still coiled around the pole and Nyssan slid back into the water with hardly a sound.

Draco eyed the chest then glanced at harry.

"How many did the greasy git want?"

Harry laughed, "A dozen, if I could manage."

"If you could manage."

"Mm-hmm," Harry mumbled, "He lectured me for three hours on the magical properties of Silvertails and their potential as potions ingredients."

"What's their potential?" Draco watched the water.

"I have no idea, I stopped listening after three minutes." Harry said, "Accio Silvertail." And a second silver fish joined the first in the chest as Nyssan slipped back into the water. "Something about magic restorative powers or some-such."

"Typical of you." Draco turned to lean back against the rail. "I don't know how you managed to graduate with that sort of attitude. Paying attention to what Professors told you so long as it didn't contradict your Boy-Who-Lived views; gallivanting off on one fool-brained escapade after another."

Harry eyed his companion, formulating a retort in his head, but decided to overlook it in favor of a new topic.

"The Ministry get tired of the Malfoy arrogance?"

"Na," Draco said, "I got tired of reforming my definition of stupidity." He waved his hand absently, "Between the Minister's incompetent stupidity, the Aurors' stubborn stupidity and Macomb's ignorant stupidity; the Ministry has an endless supply of moronic ideas and pointless missions."

"I suppose you're currently on one of these pointless missions?" Harry said, waving his third fish into the chest.

"Acton Macomb," Draco began dramatically, "Oh wise Head of the Department of International Cooperation, had the brilliant and original idea of sending an English representative to the Egyptian Magical Artifacts and Antiquities Conference being held within the Osiris Bazaar Flats in Alexandria. Thus, yours truly, was nominated due to his noble status, high Ministry standing, aristocratic charm, and his renowned knowledge and appreciation of Antiquities." Draco finished sarcastically.

"And his apparent gullibility." Harry mumbled.

"What was that, Potter?"

"Was that an excerpt from Macomb's speech, or did you actually come up with that list of attributes yourself?" Harry said.

"Word for word." Draco said sullenly.

Harry laughed as he summoned another fish from Nyssan.

"So, what is the extent of your imperative mission to Egypt's magical world?" Harry asked.

"I have no idea." Draco said seriously, "I stopped listening after three minutes."

Harry stared at his companion, still leaning casually against the rail, gazing up at the sky.

"Something about good representation and showing interest or some-such."

"Malfoy," Harry began, "You have now officially spent far too much time around Gryffindors."

"Apparently, as your bad habits are rubbing off and staining my once good name."

Harry snorted, and the two shared a rare laugh. Harry waved two more fish into the chest before speaking up again.

"But, seriously, what do you have to do in Egypt?"

"Officially?" Draco said, "Attend the Conference and show England's ever-present support and interest of Egypt's culture and ways, add my knowledgeable opinion to the subjects discussed and formulate ties among Egypt's political betters." Draco watched Harry wave another fish into the chest. "How many?"

"Seven."

"Unofficially," Draco continued, "Dig out any possible rumors of dark intent, sort the present political and aristocratic powers into levels of potential danger and deliver a message of ignorance to any smart enough to see through said ignorant façade."

Draco turned to lean out over the rail, watching the water below.

"Personally, attend the blasted conference and follow orders half-heartedly while appearing the ever-dedicated, always loyal Ministry Representative. Then selfishly enjoy the all-expense-paid vacation to the deserts of Northern Africa for the remainder of the week."

Harry chuckled. "While dragging along the famous Boy-Who-Lived to boost your image?"

"Infamous, is more like it." Draco mumbled, "And that git, Macomb, insisted I invite England's greatest celebrity. If the Man-Who-Lived-Yet-Again would agree to attend."

"Figured as much." Harry said, summoning another fish. "I'm not sure whether to be insulted or not. You invite me along, giving me the sincere impression that you actually want me here for my company, when in reality you're only using me for my notoriety."

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter. Your name isn't that famous."

Harry smiled at Draco's Slytherin admission of their friendship and waved his ninth fish into the chest. The two stood in companionable silence, watching the shore line pass by while Harry summoned the fish that his familiar retrieved.

"The dawn is coming." Draco whispered.

Harry looked to the east, seeing evidence of Malfoy's statement in the slowly graying sky. He sighed and pulled his cloak snug around himself. He glanced over at Draco, who had pulled on a long gray muggle-style trench coat.

"Munio luminos!" Harry said, pointing his wand at his friend. A soft misty light enveloped Draco, and faded into his skin.

Draco then repeated the shielding spell and Harry closed his eyes as he felt the cool dampness of the spell settle over him.

"Even after fourteen years, I'm still not used to having to hide from the sun." Harry whispered.

"You better get used to it. You're stuck with it for the rest of your half-life." Draco said irritably. Harry turned back to the water. Neither of them had fully come to terms with the conditions that came with their lives.

"You do know that I blame you, right." Draco said.

Harry didn't reply, instead he hissed at Nyssan, who made her way up the pole to the rail of the boat. Her scales shimmered in the rising sun.

If you hadn't insisted on nearly killing yourself, than we wouldn't be in this position." Draco continued, "But, no! Famous Harry Potter had to go off and try making himself a martyr. Bloody brilliant, that was."

Harry waved his wand absently over the rod, returning it to a much smaller size. He pocked it while he did the same for the chest after placing the list of charms over it that Severus told him to.

"Voldemort couldn't manage to kill you, so you had to try to do it for them. Boy-Who-Lived succeeded where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named failed! The presses would have had a hay-day out of that, I'm sure."

"They did have a hay-day, if I remember correctly." Harry said, letting the snake slide up his arm and coil herself around his shoulders again. "Remember, it was your idea not to let anybody know that I did survive. It took months before the wizarding world believed I was the real thing. There are still people who think I'm some Death Eater imposter; some new Dark Lord."

"Well, technically, you aren't alive, you know."

"The Vespertilli aren't quite alive." Harry said, "We, however, are every bit as alive as everyone else."

"Of course we are, Potter." Draco said, sarcasm lacing his words, "And Lupin is human."

"Remus IS human, Malfoy." Harry said, looking him in the eye.

"Right, you must have forgotten what happens to him at every full moon. That is not a human reaction to moonlight. Nor is our allergic reactions to direct sunlight, a normal human response."

"Draco. Must we go over this every morning?"

"We will until you finally accept the fact that we, like Lupin, are not fully human. We have Vampire blood in our veins, Potter, and all the joys that come with it."

"Not quite all, Malfoy."

"Its bloody well close enough!"

"Fine." Harry said, fed up, "We aren't human, but we aren't Vampires either."

Draco gave him a pointed look.

"We are allergic to garlic, silver and sunlight. We are nocturnal and complete insomniacs. We have unnatural regenerative abilities, night vision, and a sixth sense that points us directly to the nearest heartbeat. What, Potter, about this is not Vampiric to you?" he ended in a hiss.

Harry glanced back to the shoreline, now defined by dull colors instead of groups of light.

"We don't need blood to survive." He said quietly.

"It certainly doesn't harm us if we consume it, however." Draco said, subdued. He turned to lean over the rail next to his friend. "The Vespertilli drive a hard bargain."

"A life for a life." Mumbled Harry.

"In exchange for saving yours they get four half-lives; or quarter-lives if you prefer." Draco was silent for a moment. "Remind me to curse Severus when we get back. It was his bloody idea to take you to them."

"I thought you blamed me?"

"I do! You're the one that was near dead after the battle."

"Mmm. The killing curse tends to do that."

"Still don't know how you managed to survive that blasted curse twice. Nobody else has ever survived it once. Of course, nobody else has a scar on their head from a dark wizard's attempt at murder."

"Draco," Harry said, "Has anybody ever told you that you talk too much?"

"I seem to remember Severus saying something along those lines."

"And did Severus, by any chance, give you some advice on how to cure it?"

"Yea," Draco said with a smirk, "He told me in no uncertain terms to go talk someone else's ear away; namely, anyone that goes by the name Harry Potter."

Harry laughed, and they spent the remainder of the morning discussing easier topics as the boat made its way into the Nile Delta, and Egypt.

oooOoooOoooOooo

_Solvo Vita_ from (Latin) "to accomplish, fulfill" and "life"

_Vespertilli_ from (Latin-Vespertilli) "bat, vampire"

_Munio luminos!_ from (Latin) "to defend with a wall, protect, defend, shelter" and "light"


	2. Ever Watcher 01

Ever Watcher 01

**Please Note: **That these chapters are NOT one storyline, and many are unrelated. This is simply a mass dump of various scenes, story ideas, and miscellaneous dialogues that are not formed into a cohesive story or plot (no matter how much they may seem like they are). I post them here because they are interesting ideas, and I like to share. If there are multiple postings from the same story/plot than the chapters will be titled the same & numbers in order. Thanks.

**Disclaimer:** 'S not mine. 'Fraid you'll have to look elsewhere.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Ever Watcher 01**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

Prelude Summary:

Voldemort's forces have rained chaos and despair over the wizarding world. With the Ministry in shambles, and the forces of darkness only growing each day, the last safe haven is Hogwarts. It is only a matter of time, a very short time, before Voldemort reaches the castle's gates, where Harry watches for his imminent arrival.

oooOoooOoooOooo

The proclaimed savior of the world stood motionless atop the battlements of the last haven. His gaze took in the grounds surrounding the castle, and his green eyes never wavered from his watch, not even to look upon the old man that stood next to him.

"Harry," the old man whispered.

"I do not bear the strength to be able to survive him." The youth confessed quietly, his voice leaden with weight.

"You do, Harry, there is no one else who can defeat him."

"You could have, Dumbledore, if you hadn't put so much faith in that bloody prophesy." He said. In a softer voice he continued, "It is too late now."

"It is never too late to have hope."

Harry never turned from his vigil, "And what about after? Who will you all turn to when another takes his place? Voldemort will not be the last."

Albus sighed as he watched the young man overlooking the grounds. After a moment he too turned to take in the view from atop the castle walls. "The magic of the world will provide a balance. It always does."

Harry didn't respond. After a few minutes of silence Albus turned and left the battlements. Harry spared the old man a quick glance as he left, but turned back to the grounds quickly.

"It always does." He whispered to the dawn.

oooOoooOoooOooo

"Is he still up there, Headmaster?"

Albus looked weary as he descended the stairwell. "Yes, Hermione, I'm afraid so." The girl looked towards the stairs with her worry clearly evident in her features.

"He hasn't moved for three days. Is he even eating?" Remus questioned.

"Someone takes food up to him at every meal time, Mum makes sure of that." Ron said, "Though I'm not sure if he eats it."

"He hasn't slept, either." Albus said.

"He never did sleep much," Remus offered, "but three days straight is getting a little much, even for him."

"He doesn't seem to have any intentions of leaving." Albus said, softly.

"Perhaps we should stun him and tie him to a bed." Ron said.

"Ron!" Hermione said. The red head held up his hands in surrender.

"It was just a suggestion. I know he wouldn't allow it even if we tried."

"I just hope that he will be alright." Hermione sighed, "This constant watch can't be healthy for him."

"He is strong." Albus said.

"His strength was never a question, Headmaster." Remus said, "It's whether he will have any left once it's all over."

They were all silent, not knowing what to say or how to respond. They were all thinking the same thing.

oooOoooOoooOooo

"Harry?" Two figures emerged from the stairwell and stepped up beside the unmoving figure of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Good morning, Hermione, Ron." He whispered.

"How are you?" the girl asked.

Harry didn't take his eyes from the grounds. "I am well enough."

"You should sleep, Harry." She said, "Have you at all in the last few days?"

"It won't matter."

"What do you mean it won't matter?" Ron said as Hermione added, "You can't function without sleep!"

"Hermione." His soft voice stopped her from continuing a lecture and she looked at her friend pleadingly.

"Harry, you're going to wear yourself out."

He smiled a little at her words. "Thank you."

"For what?" Ron asked.

"For caring."

Hermione sucked in a breath. "You know that I care, that we all care for you, Harry. We always have."

"I know, but I don't think I've ever actually thanked either of you for it."

Hermione looked at him strangely, despite the warmth she felt at his words. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were putting your affairs in order."

Harry smiled slightly, but didn't respond.

"Harry?"

"Don't worry, Hermione." He said, "All will be well."

"And what about you?" Ron whispered, fearful of his response.

He glanced at them shortly, before returning to his vigil. "I will do what I must, and what I can, and I will continue."

Hermione nodded, though he couldn't see it, and sucked in a shaky breath. She tugged on Ron's sleeve and they left him and returned to the main floor of the castle.

Harry didn't turn to watch them leave.

oooOoooOoooOooo

It was noon before another ventured up to the battlements. Harry still hadn't moved, barely even shifted from his position.

"Hello Harry."

"Remus." He acknowledged.

"Harry, you really should…"

"Stop, Remus." Harry said. "Don't continue. Don't try to talk me down or to change my mind."

"Harry, this isn't…"

"Remus." Harry turned his gaze onto the man, and met his eyes. Remus sucked in a breath at the intensity he saw in them. It felt as if the boy was able to see beyond the surface and far deeper than any person should. The green was nearly glowing with energy and power, and his face was set into a mask of determination.

"Alright, Harry. I won't, but I don't like it."

Harry smiled a little and returned his eyes to the landscape. Remus breathed a little easier without that gaze boring into him.

"I know you don't like it." Harry said, "But I must."

"Why?"

Harry didn't answer, though Remus wasn't surprised. The werewolf sighed and settled himself next to the boy on the edge of the wall. They were silent for a time, both watching the empty grounds of the school.

"Have you seen anything?" Remus asked.

"Not since the fire two days ago."

"Nothing?"

Harry didn't move, and didn't respond.

"How close are they?" Remus asked.

"It's hard to tell."

Remus nodded, knowing that as many questions as he asked, he still wouldn't get much from the boy.

"We figure that the fire was located at the opposite edge of the Forest. There is…was…a small village there."

"No one survived." Harry whispered, barely audible.

Remus hung his head in sadness. "We didn't think any one would."

"The fire burned for hours, you could see it on the horizon even through the day." Harry said in a quiet voice, "But you only saw the fire, I saw the destruction, through His eyes."

Remus sucked in a shaky breath, fighting the despair that he felt. They had all suspected that Harry was seeing through Voldemort's eyes through the connection that they shared, but weren't sure how much the boy saw.

Apparently, it was far more than they had feared.

"You know where they are, don't you?" Remus said.

"Yes."

Harry turned his gaze away from the landscape to look at his companion again. Remus forced himself to meet his eyes.

"They are coming." Harry said in a low, intense voice. "They are coming here."

oooOoooOoooOooo

"Albus, he is seeing more than we thought."

"We were afraid of that, Remus. Do you know how much he sees?"

Remus shook his head. "He won't specify, but he saw what happened to the village the other night, and he knows where they are."

"Did anyone escape?" Molly asked.

"The village?" Remus again shook his head in the negative. "He said none survived."

"He saw it all didn't he?" Ron said, "Through that monster's eyes. Harry saw everything, didn't he?"

"Ron, how could even suggest it?" Hermione said.

"'Moine! He used to get visions when he was wide awake. The visions during the night were even worse, I know, I could hear him. My bed was right next to his."

"He sees everything?" Albus asked.

"All of it." Remus said miserably, "Everything that He sees, Harry sees."

"How come he never told us?" Molly asked.

"Did we ever ask?" Remus said. "Did we ever bother to ask him what he sees? None of us really wanted to know, so we didn't bother, and he never said."

oooOoooOoooOooo

"Back already, Remus?" Harry asked as the werewolf sat on the battlements beside him. "I thought you were all taking turns?"

"Harry, we…"

"No," Harry interrupted, "Don't bother. It's alright. I like the company most of the time. I don't mind."

"We're worried about you." Remus said, watching the youth watch the grounds.

"I know."

"You've been up here for three days, Harry."

"I know."

"It's not healthy!"

"Remus," Harry flicked his eyes over to his companion before turning back to his watch, "I know."

Remus sighed and shifted his position so he was more comfortable. They were silent for a while, both watching the empty grounds of the school and the forest beyond.

"What do you see?" Remus asked the question softly. A question that was long over due to be asked, but no one ever wanted to hear the answer.

Harry turned his intense gaze to him, somewhat surprised. "I see many things." He said, still looking at the older wizard. Remus shifted under the gaze and Harry returned to his watch.

"From Him?" Remus prompted after a minute.

Harry was silent, and Remus thought that he wouldn't get a response, but then the youth spoke quietly.

"I see everything that he sees. I feel everything he feels. I even hear what he hears. Every sense that Voldemort possesses is transmitted to my own. His emotions, his thoughts, even his fears, I know and see."

Remus sucked in a shaky breath, horrified. "How…"

"Because of the connection." Harry said. "He enhanced it, and I can't close it. And he refuses to bother with it."

Remus swallowed audibly. How could anyone live with such a thing? How could Harry remain sane while he was receiving the sensations from a Dark Lord on a rampage?

"Can he, can he send you false information?"

"Why would he?" Harry said, "He has already won the world. The only thing left is Hogwarts. What would false information do to aid him? It is better for him to give me the truth; that he is coming."

"Why?" Remus asked, his voice choked with emotion.

"Because I know where he is." Harry pointed a finger into the heart of the Forbidden Forest before them. "He is close."

Remus stared at the spot that was pointed out to him. If indeed Voldemort and his forces were there, they were much closer than they had anticipated. They would be to Hogwarts sooner than they thought.

"They will be here" Harry said quietly, still pointing to the forest, "By nightfall."

oooOoooOoooOooo

"By nightfall." Remus told the small crowd. "That's what he said."

"That doesn't give us much time." Albus said gravely.

"That gives us less than eight hours until the sun sets." Moody clarified.

"Is there anything we can do?" Molly asked.

"There is very little we can do that hasn't already been done." Albus said, "The inhabitants of the forest will perhaps slow them, but it is hard to tell."

"He sees everything." Remus said faintly. "Everything."

"What are you talking about, Lupin?" Moody asked.

"Harry. He sees everything that He sees. All of it." Remus looked up at the group, his eyes wide. His horror and despair was palpable. "Everything."

oooOoooOoooOooo

"The castle wards are at their fullest strength." Albus said.

"You mean they haven't been before?"

"They were nearly so, Moody. Such strength cannot be maintained for great periods of time. They are at their strongest now."

"So all we can do is wait?" Ron asked.

"There isn't much else." Moody said.

"Please prepare yourselves for battle." Albus addressed the occupants of the Great Hall. "The children should be escorted into the safe locations that were designated after dinner. We believe that Voldemort will be here by nightfall. Please be ready."

"All we can do is wait." Ron said quietly, "Like Harry. Wait and watch."

oooOoooOoooOooo

"Harry?"

"Hello again, Remus." Harry smiled a bit at the werewolf's presence. The older man settled himself on the battlements beside the youth. They were silent for a moment, both looking out over the grounds.

Remus looked up at the clouded sky, grimacing at the darkness held there. It would rain by midnight, probably much sooner.

"Harry, I…" Remus paused, unsure of what to say.

Harry didn't turn from his vigil, but shifted slightly beside the man.

"The castle has been put on full alert." Remus said, settling on something easy. "All the children have been locked into the safest areas of the castle."

"Do you think it will be enough?" Harry whispered. "Is it enough to withstand what's coming?"

"What do you mean, Harry?" Remus asked fearfully, staring at the youth. Harry gazed into the depths of the forest, his eyes focused upon a sight that the older man was unable to see, and wasn't sure that he wanted to.

"The wards won't stop them." Harry said. "They will come, and they will bash down the walls…" the boy paused, and shook his head slightly, as if clearing his mind from invading thoughts. He glanced over at the man next him, and Remus couldn't bring himself to meet the boy's intense eyes.

"His forces are larger than we anticipated." Harry said. "Larger than we feared."

Remus couldn't tear is eyes away from the boy, yet still couldn't look directly into his green eyes. This youth, the son of his best friend, bore a weight that no one could imagine, and Remus felt despair and sorrow at the boy's words.

"Do not place anyone within my sight." Harry said, turning back to the forest and grounds.

"What? Why?" Remus asked, trying to make sense of the boy's words.

"Because we need every advantage we can gain, and surprise may be our greatest one." Harry said, "I see everything that He sees, and the connection goes both ways."

Remus gasped, unable to control it, at the realization of what he heard.

"Is that why you're up here, staring into the forest?"

Harry nodded. "Partially. He's not interested in seeing his approach form our side. He already knows what his forces are doing. He was hoping that the connection would give him some insight into what _we_ were doing."

"But because you don't know, then neither does He." Remus said faintly.

"Exactly." Harry hissed through his teeth. "So tell me nothing, don't place any defenses before me, and don't make any plans that I can hear."

Remus nodded, and then realized that Harry wouldn't see him. "Of course." He said softly, feeling, for some reason, defeated.

"Remus…" Harry said, turning to look at him. This time, he was able to meet the green gaze of the youth. "Just in case…" Harry frowned, not wanting to actually say the words, "Just in case, I want you to know that you mean a great deal to me, and that I see you as a godfather, an uncle. You're a part of the small family I have, and I'm grateful."

"Harry," Remus tried to stop the boy's words. He didn't want to hear them. He didn't want to think about what such a confession at this time meant.

Harry smiled softly, "I love you, Remus."

The werewolf stared at the boy, unable to form words to reply to a statement he hadn't heard in years.

"Ah, cub…" he said, wrapping his arms around the youth and pulling him into a hug. Harry stiffened momentarily before relaxing into the embrace, and after a moment, he returned it.

"Be careful, Remus." Harry said into his shoulder. "He knows what you are to me, and you will be targeted. Please be careful."

Remus nodded into the boy's hair. He ignored the tears on his face. He would not lose this child. He couldn't.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Ron stood before the great doors of Hogwarts, looking out over the grounds before him. He swiped a hand impatiently over his eyes, clearing the water that had gathered there. He scowled up at the sky, blinking away the rain as it fell in a gentle sheet.

He looked to his right, seeing Hermione staring steadily into the forest with determination. Her look was mirrored by the girl beyond her, and Ron fought back the protective instincts that screamed at him to hide his sister away in the castle where she couldn't be harmed. But he knew that Ginny would do no such thing, and in a way, he didn't want her to.

He turned to his left and spotted Neville with the same strength that fueled the girls. Beside him stood Luna, who had dropped her usual dreamy expression and was surveying the grounds. He sighed, feeling as if someone was missing, and there was.

He turned around, and looked up the tall face of the school to the battlements that stretched above the door. A figure could barely be seen in the dim light of the dusk and rain, but he knew that it was Harry.

"He will do what he can, and what he must." Hermione said softly. Ron tore his gaze away from his friend and looked at the girl at his side. He nodded, unable to say what was on his mind, but knowing that he didn't have to. His friends, the young adults that stood by him, understood.

He turned his attention back to the forest. The shadows of the trees were dotted with pinpoints of light. Wand light. Voldemort had arrived.

oooOoooOoooOooo

"I don't like this." Remus said.

"None of us do." Moody growled. "Get over it."

"It shouldn't be this way. It shouldn't have had to end like this."

"Nothing can be done about it now." Moody snapped, "He's here, pull yourself together or your going to get yourself killed…or worse."

Remus turned away from the grisly man's sneer, wiping the water away from his eyes. He turned and looked up along the length of the castle, spotting the barely discernable figure of Harry perched above the doors. His friends were below him, backed up by a dozen Aurors and Order members. They would guard the doors into the castle, which held the youth of their community.

Remus returned his gaze to the people surrounding him. Some of the professors, many Aurors and Hitwizards and a few members of the Order flanked him on either side, stretching along the length of the castle walls. They were to guard the right side, and engage in the battle on the grounds.

He took in the sight before them. The Forest was littered with small dots of light. Voldemort's forces were high in numbers, easily outstripping their own. The battle would not be easy, if it was won at all.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry sat alone atop the walls of Hogwarts, perched precariously on the edge of the battlements that stretched across the main doors of the castle. His gaze never wavered from the forest as the number of lights increased in size and spread throughout the facing edge of the grounds.

His vision was doubled, and he saw the walls of Hogwarts laid over that of the grounds. He could see the figures of the forces of Light spread before the castle walls, ready to defend the last haven of the Wizarding World.

Hazy views of the ranks of the Death Eaters, each holding their wands alight before them, flickered in his eyes. He blinked, chasing away the drops of rainwater from his lashes, trying to settle his mind and vision into one cohesive sight. For a moment he only saw the forest and grounds before him, the sight that his own eyes saw, before it was again overlaid with another vision and he saw also the castle before him.

The only sameness in the two views was the grounds stretched between them. He saw, from two points of view, as Voldemort's forces moved forward onto those grounds, leaving the concealing shadows of the forest for the dimming light of the open grounds that stood before the doors of Hogwarts.

His gaze didn't waver at the size of the force moving toward him, next to him, with him. He heard the shouts of those below him as they called out warnings and orders. For a moment he thought he heard Ron's clear, deep voice, but it was quickly overlaid with the sibilant whispers of Parseltongue as Voldemort spoke to his mind, telling him of his plans and his dreams and all the horrors that he would bring. Harry didn't move as the darkness crept up on them all, his mind filled with the images of Voldemort's eyes, and the hissing of his voice.

But the whispering voice of Voldemort was drowned out by the last desperate cries of his mother, as Dementers swept over the field.

oooOoooOoooOooo

The members of the DA stood their ground before the doors to the school as a wave of coldness swept over them, preceding the advancing Dementers. As the cloaked mass came into range, a chorus of shouts echoed down the lines before the school as hundreds of wizards and witches called out the Patronus Charm.

Many shielded their eyes at the light as the spell charged down the Dementers before them. So many of the charms had been cast that no single shape could be discerned amongst the fog of light.

But it wasn't enough. A second echoed shout sent out another volley of Patronus', the second weaker than the first. The Dementers continued to advance, their coldness sweeping out before them, chilling the ranks of the Light that stood before the castle.

Ginny gasped as memories played through her mind, and she collapsed to one knee, desperately trying to retain her grasp on consciousness. She was vaguely aware of Hermione next to her, talking to her, but she couldn't grasp the words above the roar of her memories.

"Expecto Patronum!" a voice rang out from above them, and a great silver form erupted from the top of the castle walls. Both sides watched as the Patronus galloped over the heads of those around the castle and charged down the Dementers.

Ginny sucked in a deep breath as her memories receded, and looked up in time to see the form of a large silver stag leap through the form of a Dementer, sending the creature into a flurry of smoke and shadows.

She clamped her hands over her ears at the chorus of screams let out from the Dementers as they died under the force of the Patronus.

"Harry." She whispered, knowing that his strength had stayed Voldemort's first attack. No one else could have conjured such a powerful Patronus, and in the form of a stag.

She retrieved her wand from where it had fallen at her side and stood strongly, giving Hermione a reassuring nod. She looked up at the battlements above her, shielding the rain with one hand as she searched out the form of her friend.

Harry crouched low above the edge of the wall, his arm stretched out over the grounds and still letting off a wispy string of silver mist from his spell. He seemed like some strange form of gargoyle, guarding them all from his place on the walls.

oooOoooOoooOooo

The Professors watched in muted awe as the great Patronus charged down the Dementers single-handedly. Remus wiped at his face, swiping away both rain and tears as he watched the form of Prongs run across the field.

"James would have been so proud." He whispered.

"He is proud." Albus said from his side.

Remus nodded, still watching the large Patronus as it leaped through the forms of the Dementers. "I know, they are always watching; they are always with him."

Remus turned his gaze from the sight before him, searching out Harry's crouched form on the wall. He could barely make the youth out from the distance through the rain, but could tell that he hadn't moved from his position.

"He knows what he needs to do." Albus said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Remus nodded and turned away from the boy. He watched as the last of the Dementers were chased over the lake by Harry's Patronus, which hadn't waned a bit in strength.

He whipped his eyes back toward Voldemort's forces as he heard their approach. He cast one last glance up at the wall to Harry, able to see him better for a moment as the rain paused. He met the boy's gaze momentarily before the rain renewed its efforts and he could no longer see Harry clearly. The rain poured down on them as the two forces grew closer and Remus turned to the approaching mass and fired off his first spell.

oooOoooOoooOooo


	3. Live My Son 01

Live, My Son – 01

**Please Note: **That these chapters are NOT one storyline, and many are unrelated. This is simply a mass dump of various scenes, story ideas, and miscellaneous dialogues that are not formed into a cohesive story or plot (no matter how much they may seem like they are). I post them here because they are interesting ideas, and I like to share. If there are multiple postings from the same story/plot than the chapters will be titled the same & numbers in order. Thanks.

**Author's Note:** Live, My Son is a one-shot posted in my library here. This is a continuation idea from that universe.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Live, My Son – Continuation 01**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

There comes a time, in every man's life, when he asks himself what his worth truly is. Despite years of hard work, double lives and thankless tasks, Severus was faced with such a question when he found that he couldn't have done anything to prevent what had happened, and indeed, he had little to truly offer in order to fix it.

"You haven't yet been called?"

"No, Albus." Severus said, rubbing at the mark on his arm. "There has been nothing, not so much as a twinge."

"Then, all we can do is wait."

"Wait?" Severus started out of his chair, "Wait for what? The boy's death? His body showing up outside the gates of Hogwarts? Albus, he'll be dead if you wait! We'll all be lucky if he isn't already!"

"Severus. There is nothing that I can do."

"The Order…"

"Is not strong enough to take on Tom's forces in such an attack."

"And the Ministry…"

"Would not believe me."

"Because of my word." Severus all but fell back to his chair, brooding silently on the reputation that he held due to the service he gave to the man seated with him.

"You were the only one there, Severus." Albus said, "Cornelius will not take your word for it, especially since the Ministry did not condone a watch on the location."

"What does that hair brained excuse of a Minister think happened?"

Albus shook his head sadly, "They only believe that Harry ran away from home, like a troubled teen. You know the current view of the public on the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Yes of course, the fickle mob. They adored him no less than four months ago, and now they see him only as a half mad, angst ridden teen."

"Harry did threaten to leave the Dursleys."

"No doubt why the Dark Lord took advantage of the situation." Severus said.

"Yes, yes." Albus said, "The Ministry does not believe that Death Eaters could have entered the wards placed around Harry's relatives' home."

"Idiots."

"Indeed, I believe I would have to agree with you on that point."

"You did not put up your own wards, Albus?"

"I did. Harry was not within the confines of the house when he was taken. The wards only reached so far."

"That boy doesn't know how to…"  
"He didn't know of the extent that the wards reached." Albus interrupted. Severus sent the man a glare, but didn't comment.

"You are our only link to him, Severus." Albus said softly, "That mark on your arm is the only way we will know where he is, and hope to find a way to bring him back."

"You had better have a lot of hope, Albus, that he isn't broken if we ever do get him out of there alive." Severus stood, and tugged the sleeves of his robe down over his wrists. "The Dark Lord will not hesitate to – play with his newest toy."

"I know, Severus." Albus said sadly. "Harry is strong."

"Is he strong enough?" Severus turned and met his mentor's eyes, "You do not know what they will do to him. I know. I will be called to pour potions down his throat, to revive him, to make sure that he will last through all their games. Is he strong _enough_, Albus?"

"He will have to be."

Severus scowled fiercely at him. "It has already been four days." He said, "By now, they will have tired of the mental means of torment, and will have moved on to more physical degradations. Within a week they will begin using long term magical curses on top of the rest." Severus planted his hands on the desk and leaned in close to the other man, "Is he strong _enough_?" he hissed.

"Harry will survive." Albus looked worn and thin. Severus didn't push the issue, as he watched his mentor look more and more his age.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Not once in his life did Severus ever anticipate a call. Strange, how the life and sanity of one mere boy drove him to pacing, waiting, for the Dark Lord to call through his mark.

"Severus, do stop that. You're making me dizzy."

"You're a bloody painting, you can't get dizzy." Severus snapped up at the portrait.

"Perhaps, but I still remember the sensation, however faintly. What's got you in such a disposition anyways?"

Severus sent a glare towards the painting above his fireplace, annoyed that the usually pleasant conversation of the man was making him irritated.

"That blasted boy has gotten himself into a fix, again." He said.

"The Potter brat?"

"Indeed."

"What has he done that affects you so?"

"Because, Salazar," Severus snapped, "I am the only one who could possibly get close enough to him to save his bloody life, and whatever may be left of his mind after a week at their hands."

"Ah," the founder said, "I see."

"Do you?"

"I do." Salazar insisted. "You are waiting for something that you have dreaded since your graduation."

Severus stopped his pacing and stared at the portrait, irked that the blasted painting knew him so well.

"I took the…" Severus stopped, hissing through his teeth as he clamped a hand over the burning of his Dark Mark.

"He calls, then." Salazar commented as Severus gathered what he needed. "And now your wait is over."

"It's not finished, yet."

"No, of course not."

Severus didn't comment, and left his chambers quickly. It wouldn't due to make the Dark Lord wait.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Severus had never liked the robes and mask of the Death Eater, though he quickly learned to appreciate their qualities. The mask, for instance, hid his face from his 'comrades' and the eyes of the Dark Lord.

"My Lord calls me." He said to the man at the door.

The figure was robed, but not masked, one of those who had dedicated their lives to the Dark Lord, or had them dedicated. They were then caged within the mansion to serve with their lives; all of their lives. Severus vaguely recalled seeing the man in his classes at Hogwarts; a Ravenclaw, if his memory was to be believed.

He couldn't recall the other's name.

"Enter, then." The man stated, opening the door. Severus barely paused before walking through the arch into the darkness of the interior.

He glided through the halls of the mansion, a nameless shadow among the throngs that were Voldemort's followers. The only thing that set him apart from the others was that his mask was white, the color of the inner circle.

The robed and masked Death Eaters parted before him, some cowering along the edges of the halls as he passed. He sneered at them unseen, and pitied them, and yet he felt for them.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Severus had always dreaded the Call, and not once in his many years of service did he kneel willingly. He had always cringed behind his mask at the required obeisance and he would never bow to the man with everything.

He came close to it that day.

"My Lord." He whispered to the feet before him.

"My servant," Voldemort from above him. "Rise and take your place, Severus."

Severus repressed the shudder at hearing his name, and did as he was ordered, sliding into position amongst the gathering circle. He never knew how Voldemort recognized each of his followers, robed and masked as they were, and each time the Dark Lord unfailingly spoke his name in response to his bow Severus felt an unnamed darkness crawl up his spine.

It didn't take long for those called to take their places around the Dark Lord. It didn't do to be late, when the punishment for such an infraction was Unforgiveable.

"My servants."

Severus again felt the tell tale shiver of fear ripple up his spine. It was a reaction and emotion that he had no control over, and it never faded.

"I have great news." Voldemort continued, standing before his throne and gesturing regally with his arms. "I have Harry Potter."

oooOoooOoooOooo

Severus had never cared much for either of the Potters he had the privilege of knowing, yet he couldn't bring himself to dislike the junior Potter once the boy was dragged into the chamber. Severus had been correct in his assessment that the Death Eaters would have graduated into more long term and magical means of torment. They, however, hadn't healed the results of their earlier treatment of the boy.

He was unclothed, utterly naked in the middle of a ring of his enemies. His bareness allowed every wound and curse to show to those gathered, a testament to his captivity, to his humiliation. Severus clenched his teeth as he identified the curses and causes of the many wounds one by one.

They had not been kind to the boy.

"You see," The Dark Lord began, motioning towards the kneeling boy. "He is nothing but a child."

Severus grimaced at the wording. He didn't know how they could do such atrocities to a child.

"Nothing more than a pathetic little boy-wizard." Voldemort sneered down at Potter.


	4. Solvo Vita 02

Solvo Vita 02

**Please Note: **That these chapters are NOT one storyline, and many are unrelated. This is simply a mass dump of various scenes, story ideas, and miscellaneous dialogues that are not formed into a cohesive story or plot (no matter how much they may seem like they are). I post them here because they are interesting ideas, and I like to share. If there are multiple postings from the same story/plot than the chapters will be titled the same & numbered in order. Thanks.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Solvo Vita 02**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

_FIDE, SED QUI, VIDE "Trust, but take care whom."_

"Draco, you know I hate this kind of thing." Harry whined to the mirror in front of him.

"Which is exactly why I didn't tell you about it." his voice carried from the other room.

Harry snorted, and adjusted his collar. 'Ravishing, my dear.' The mirror cooed. Harry snorted again and pulled his dress robe on. 'Wonderful!' the blasted mirror exclaimed, 'The color matches your eyes!'

"Malfoy!" Harry said, "If they make me give some bloody speech, I swear on Merlin's grave that I'll hex you until even Snape can't find uses for what's left."

'Now dear, that's hardly the tone a gentleman should have.' The mirror said.

"What was that, Potter?"

'Fix your tie, dear.' Harry adjusted his tie, scowling. 'That's better! What a handsome young man!' Harry's scowl deepened. 'Try not to scowl so much, dear, smiles are much more pleasant!'

Harry fixed the mirror with a glare to rival Severus'.

'Now, now,' the mirror admonished, 'Turn that frown upside down!'

Harry smirked evilly, and before the blasted mirror could utter another word, he had hexed it through the nine levels of hell and back again.

"We'll have to pay for that, you know." Draco drawled, entering the room, "You're in a rotten mood."

Harry turned a scowl on his companion and chose not to say anything.

"Mmph." Draco snorted, "Fix your tie; we're going to be late."

Harry tugged at the offending tie and headed out the door, still not trusting his mouth not to throw hexes at everything the moment he allowed it to open. He really hated this kind of thing.

"Iktarus is the representative that will be meeting us." Draco said, leading the way down the hall, "Don't trust anything he says, he's only looking for power, albeit unsuccessfully. His wife, Naim, however is a saucy tramp, watch out for her, she'll eat you for lunch then regurgitate you for her husband to have a go."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Draco's descriptions.

"You'll meet a few of their nobles, most are pompous pricks with shallow minded sirens for wives. The only one you really need to keep an eye on is Miniuct Kriit. He's devious, subtle and tricky. Beware what you tell him. Apparently he had his young wife flayed and buried alive for speaking out of turn."

Draco and Harry paused at the end of the hall. The Slytherin turned to him.

"Pharoah Nefut is a bit of an idiot, but he's a genius when it comes to tactics and politics. Rather reminds me of Fudge, really. Just be yourself, and there's no worry." Draco shot a rather odd look towards Harry, "Better yet, be the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry snorted. "I hate this kind of thing."

Draco smiled grimly and adjusted Harry's tie. Harry scowled at him as he opened the door into a small antechamber.

"Ah! Welcome friends. I trust your trip was pleasant?"

Harry focused on the Egyptian before him and nearly choked. The lithe man was wearing a pair of linen white trousers with turquoise embroidered trimmings and little else. Unless of course you count the innumerable pieces of jewelry that Harry didn't even want to try to count.

"I am called Iktarus." The Egyptian continued, "Welcome to the Egyptian court. If you would follow me?" The man turned and led the way to a door opposite, motioning for the servant there to open them.

Harry fixed his face into his classic Gryffindor mask and took a deep breath as the heavy wooded doors were pulled open. The chamber beyond was filled with people, most similarly dressed to Iktarus. A number of Egyptians turned their attention to the new arrivals, and one particularly pleasant looking woman detached herself from the crowd and approached them.

"Ah, Naim." Iktarus greeted her. "Gentleman, my wife, Naim."

Draco took the woman's hand and executed an impressive and rather charming little bow, landing a chaste kiss upon her hand. "A pleasure, m'lady."

"We are honored to have you here. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

"You have a beautiful country. We enjoyed the views immensely."

The woman nodded gracefully and turned to Harry. He thought she looked rather bored. He really hated this kind of thing.

"Pleased to meet you." he mumbled taking her hand in a small shake.

"The pleasure is mine." She said, "And you are?"

"Ah, forgive my manners." Iktarus cut in, "My dear, meet Lord Draco Malfoy and…Harry Potter."

"The Boy-Who-Lived." Naim whispered, a predatory look appearing in her eyes. Harry shifted.

"Indeed." Iktarus said, "Gentlemen, the Pharoah no doubt would like to make your acquaintance."

"By all means, Iktarus." Draco said, "M'Lady."

Iktarus offered his arm to his wife and with a last searching look at Harry, Naim took the proffered arm and they made their way towards the other end of the hall. The Pharoah was seated on what Harry could only call a throne, and adorned in more gold than Draco had in his Gringotts vault. He was softly featured, and rather pudgy. He reminded Harry strongly of the former minister, Cornelius Fudge. Coupled with his memories of Voldemort's fondness for thrones, the scene left an unsavory feeling in his stomach.

"Pharoah." Iktarus said, bowing double at the waist. "May I present Patratus Lord Draco Malfoy and Defense Master Harry Potter, representatives from England."

"Ah!" Nefut exclaimed, "I trust you had a pleasant journey, and you find your accommodations satisfactory. We are pleased that you have come to Egypt, and I hope the remainder of your stay is enjoyable."

"We are gracious for your offer, and yes, the journey was relaxing." Draco said.

"Oh, good!" the Pharoah said, "Please enjoy your evening here, and perhaps later we can speak with less formality."

"Thank you, Pharoah." Draco said with a small bow.

Harry followed his companions away from the Pharoah, noticing a rather dark man detach himself from the throne's dais and trail after them. Harry accepted a glass from his friend, sampling the red wine contents. Pleasant, he thought dryly.

"Miniuct," Naim cooed to the dark man when he neared, "Join us for a drink." And she promptly handed him a goblet.

"So glad to hear that England has an interest in international affairs." He said silkily. Harry eyed the man. He was dressed similarly to most others in the room, but wore noticeably less jewelry, favoring a more simplistic look that clearly said 'less is more'.

"Miniuct Kriit, advisor to the Pharoah." The man said nodding his head slightly.

"Draco Malfoy, as I'm sure you know." Harry thought he detected some of Malfoy's old ice in his voice.

"And Harry Potter." Kriit said, turning to Harry, "Your reputation precedes you."

"And what does it say?" Harry asked, truly interested. Kriit eyed him for a moment as he took a sip of his wine.

"That depends wholly on who you ask."

"I'm asking you." Harry said softly, meeting the man's dark eyes.

"The famous Boy-Who-Lived" he began after a moment, "survived as a babe what none other has, battled against the Dark Lord Voldemort no less than six times before he reached his majority, lost the last of his blood at age 15, killed his first man at 16, killed the Dark Lord at 17, international mercenary, tomb-raider, and" he paused to look knowingly at Harry, "part Vampire."

"Is that true?" Naim said, seemingly shocked.

"My lady," Draco reassured her, "Do you think Harry and I could have comfortably come to Egypt if He were a Vampire? Why, he'd turn to dust before even touching the sand!"

Harry watched Kriit, who watched him right back. Both know that everything he had listed was truth. Harry just wanted to know how the man was so sure of the information. They didn't broadcast the knowledge that the Savior of the Wizarding world was, in part, Vespertilli. So how was Miniuct Kriit so sure?

"What about the rest?" Naim's voice cut through Harry's thoughts. "How did you defeat the Dark Lord at so young an age?"

"Do you mean when I was a baby, or when I killed him later?" Harry turned to the woman.

"Ah, well, both then."

"Yes, do tell us the story." Iktarus added.

"Mm," Kriit said, "I would like to compare the truth to the rumor. Do enlighten us."

Harry eyed the man warily.

"Go on, Harry" Draco drawled, "Regal us all with your tales of glory."

"Why don't you tell the story, Draco "Harry said, "You were there for most of it, and you're a much better story teller than me."

"It's your story, Potter."

"Oh, come on, sir." Naim said, placing her hand imploringly on his arm. "Do tell us!"

"Very well." Harry said, shooting Draco a dark look, which his friend easily ignored.

"As far as how I survived the killing curse when I was an infant, nobody really knows." Harry began, "Our best guess is that my mother's sacrifice allowed for me to live." Harry shrugged. "Killing Voldemort in my 7th year of school, however, proved to be more difficult. He attacked Hogwarts in April with his slew of Death Eaters."

"He attacked a school full of children?" Naim exclaimed, "How dreadful!"

Harry shot Draco a look, which he shrugged off. So far Iktarus' pretty wife hardly seemed dangerous.

"Yes, a school." Harry continued, "The professors and some of the older students helped to defend it until the Aurors arrived. By that time, I had found Voldemort and we were trading insults."

"Now, you were both Parselmouths, correct?" Iktarus asked. "Was this conversation in Parseltongue then?"

"Yes, actually. We both were speaking Parseltongue, as he began speaking to me in the language and I automatically followed suit; however, I'd hardly call it a proper conversation."

Draco snorted, "I'd say not."

"Did you understand their words?" Naim asked.

"No, but I got a rough translation later."

"What did you say to each other?" Naim turned back to Harry. Harry took a swallow of his wine before answering.

"It was hardly a conversation to be repeated in such fine company. Suffice it to say we weren't trading pleasantries over tea."

Harry shrugged, hoping that they wouldn't pry into the particular conversation. It was hardly a boring exchange, since Voldemort had explained in great detail the traps that he laid for the Order, and his future plans, all of which had only fueled Harry's anger, giving him the strength to defeat him.

"So how did you defeat him?" Naim prompted.

"Pure, dumb luck." Draco mumbled.

"Exactly." Harry said. "He cast the killing curse at me and somehow I managed to repeat what happened as a babe, although I have no idea what I did. His life-force was sucked right out of him and he died; although the effort nearly killed me as well, which is probably where the rumors of vampirism came from." Harry finished, "Since it took nearly a year for me to fully recover."

Harry decided not to mention that the two had dueled for over an hour before Voldemort threw the killing curse at him; or how he had drawn Voldemort's essence into their wands and then snapped them both, effectively eradicating the Dark Lord's presence completely. He also had a lot of help from a certain Pheonix.

"You're right," Draco said, "I am a better story teller. Face it, Potter, that was dreadful."

"And you don't know how you killed him?" Kriit asked. Harry turned to him.

"Pure, dumb luck." He said with a smirk trying to show itself.

"Indeed." Kriit obviously wasn't pleased with that response.

"Fascinating!" Naim exclaimed, clutching at his arm again. Harry moved his wine to his other hand to prevent it spilling. "And you were only eighteen when this happened?"

"Um, seventeen." Harry said, trying to inch away from her, to no avail.

"So young!" the woman cooed, "How ever did you manage?"

"I had a lot of help, really." Harry was beginning to get uncomfortable. The blasted woman wouldn't let go of his arm. He shot a look towards his companion, though Draco hardly seemed likely to aid him in any way, especially if that blasted smirk reflected the man's thoughts.

"No doubt," Kriit said, "at the age you were."

Harry eyed the man warily and not a little indignant. He may have been young, but he was far from incompetent, especially by the time he faced Voldemort for the final time.

"One would hardly expect a child to defeat the worst dark wizard of the century." Harry said, placing his half empty glass on a passing tray, and using the motion as an excuse to place Draco between him and the wench trying to attach himself to his arm. Harry distinctly caught a small smirk on Draco's face as he did so.

"Of course not." Draco said with a touch of sarcasm. "Simply because you survived his attack as a babe, doesn't mean you could defeat him when you actually knew something about it." Harry shot him a look. Whether their present company realized it or not, they were hardly joking. The whole of the English wizarding community had expected Harry Potter to once again defeat Voldemort.

"Strange then," Kriit said absently, "How you got all the credit for the deed, when you received so much aid from others."

"That is the fickleness of the public, I'm afraid." Harry said.

"Yet you were the one to face him." Iktarus said.

"Indeed, I was."

Kriit watched him through narrowed eyes for a moment before making his excuses and taking his leave of the group. Thankfully, Naim trailed after him, shooting Harry a rather venomous look as she left. Apparently she wasn't happy with his refusal. He found that he didn't much care.

Harry and Draco mingled a bit more with the court populace, or rather with those who knew enough of the English language to warrant a conversation, before taking their leave and returning to their rooms.

Kriit didn't make a reappearance, for which they were both thankful, though neither were comforted by his absence.

oooOoooOoooOooo

_Solvo Vita_ from (Latin) "to accomplish, fulfill" and "life"


	5. Seems Familiar 01

**Warnings:** sappy, without plot, lots of original characters (mostly children) and slightly AU. The beginnings of a much larger and longer story that I haven't bothered to continue yet.

**Disclaimer:** Mostly not mine.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Seemingly Familiar  
**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry's partners had the unfortunate habit of winding up not being so. Though none had yet died, three ended up in serious medical conditions while one poor young wizard dropped out of the Auror Corps altogether. Harry last heard that he was working a safe desk job in the Ministry's Department of Transportation and was still jumping whenever an owl got too close to him.

After eight years as an Auror he had gone through over a dozen partners. This fact was a well-known phenomenon throughout the entire Law Enforcement Division and even most of the Ministry, and Harry had found his last three partners to be particularly nervous at the prospect of working with him. The two young Academy graduates standing next to him were no different, even though they were being partnered with him for a single mission. His current 'official' partner was still in the Medical Ward with a strangely persistent, unknown malady. Harry wasn't sure that he blamed him or not.

"Auror Potter, are you paying attention?"

Harry snapped his eyes to his superior, resisting the instinct to squirm or apologize.

"Of course, sir," He said, his voice slightly more steady than his eyes.

Gawain Robards narrowed his eyes, his long eyebrows twitching slightly, before continuing his introductions of the three Aurors standing in his office.

"Potter," Robards said, motioning to the other two, "Meet Aurors Orsen Clemons and Alhena Alneirin. They will be supporting you in missions until Wystan is over whatever ailment he's drumming up or the Healers boot him out."

Harry smirked, not that he was feeling all that malicious towards Wystan, but the Hit-Wizard turned Auror had made missions difficult for Harry since they had been assigned together. After Wystan's latest bull headed escapade Harry wasn't too particularly sorry for him when he got hit by a yet to be identified curse.

"Clemons, Alneirin," Robards continued, ignoring Harry's smirk, "Meet Potter. He will be your ranking superior until I seem fit to give him a new partner to torment."

The two young Aurors paled a bit at Robards' words, their anxiety rising noticeably. Harry resisted the urge to sigh and bemoan his life to the world at large. Robards had always found the rate that Harry went though partners to be eerily funny. Harry just alternated between exasperated and irritated as the man grew more and more antagonistic towards the various Aurors assigned with him.

"Not my fault, sir," Harry said half-heartedly. It was an old argument.

Robards snorted. "Like bad luck isn't the fault of a broken mirror."

Harry sighed, eyeing the two youngsters a bit warily. "Don't need to scare them before we even leave the office."

Robards grunted and leaned further back, settling his heavy form more firmly into the chair. Harry was pretty sure that the man wasn't the least bit contrite.

"Introductions made," Robards said, "Are you ready for your briefing?"

Despite that two of the three Aurors were recent Academy graduates, Harry was fairly certain that none of them took Robards's question as anything but a command to "listen up." Harry felt himself straighten a bit out of reflex.

"Some half-brained idiot of a Wizard has managed to thrum up trouble in the south part of Surrey," Robards began, looking between the three. "While no doubt closer to a Squib than anything like a Wizard, he is a bit handy with –" Robards eyed the pieces of parchment on his desk, "Blasting Curses." He sneered. "How coarse."

Robards ignored Harry's put-upon sigh with ease. Harry wasn't overly fond of the man's opinions about choice of spells or assessment of power levels. He had the tendency to dumb down a situation, a trait Harry had – on more than one occasion – blamed for his reputation with elusive partners.

"Apparently this Wizard," – another slight sneer, "Has collected a few nasty little cursed artifacts and saw fit to sell them to Muggles," Robards said, shifting a few parchments on his desk around. "Nothing that's done permanent damage yet, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time."

"Name?" Harry asked.

Robards glanced up at him with some irritation, no doubt for interrupting.

"Lester," Robards said, double-checking his parchments before throwing them on his desk and staring hard at Harry. "This should be easy, Potter," He said sharply.

"So should a lot of things," Harry retorted under his breath.

"But with you involved I know it won't be," Robards continued, not hearing or ignoring Harry's comment, "which is why I'm assigning a three-man team to this."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, glancing at the two new Aurors a bit critically.

"Bring the man in and make the location safe for the recovery team before you notify them." Robards leaned over his desk and pointed a finger at Harry sharply. "I do not want to find another missed ward backfired on one of the researchers because of the carelessness of the Aurors in my Division."

"Yes, sir," Harry repeated, deciding not to point out that that particular incident had not been his fault, though granted, he hadn't double-checked his then-partner's handiwork, either. He was just glad that the ward in question wasn't lethal, though it was certainly embarrassing.

Robards regarded them silently for a few minutes. Harry endured his inspection and felt the two youths shift beside him at the scrutiny.

"Dismissed," Robards said, waving a hand absently in the direction of the door. Harry scooped up the folder of papers from Robards desk and followed the two young Aurors out.

"Oh, and Potter," The man called with a smirk, "Try not to send them to the Infirmary, they are a little young yet and I'd hate to lose two new graduates because your Curse scared them off before they became too useful."

The two shifted nervously in the hallway and Harry scowled darkly at his superior. He did not need the two assigned to him any more anxious than they already were.

"Of course, sir," Harry said, overly polite, "But I've a reputation to uphold you know."

Robards snarled silently, gleefully, but Harry shut the door between them before the man could respond.

Frowning, Harry turned to regard the two young Aurors his highly-debatably-sane superior had assigned him with. Clemons was by far the tallest of the three of them, and broader as well, though he was otherwise physically plain and nondescript. Harry was quite sure that the young man could throw his weight around when it counted. He just hoped that the large Clemons could maneuver effectively in a magical encounter.

While most men and quite a few women where taller and broader than Harry, the last over-large Auror partnered to him had been a bit too bulky compared to Harry's slighter form. As such, he had been the easier target. If Harry counted right, that had been his fifth partner, and had spent nearly five weeks in St. Mungos after a particularly nasty scuffle. As he recalled, he had only spent a few days with the Healers on that one.

The shorter and slightly thinner woman, Alneirin, seemed a bit frail to Harry, but it was likely only due to her closeness to the much coarser Clemons. In actuality she was just barely taller than himself, her short blonde hair spiked over her head added to her height.

Both looked a bit young to Harry, used as he was to working with the older Aurors – they tended to last a bit longer with him – though he knew his own features appeared little older than the two before him.

"Well," Harry started, trying to be light-hearted, "This should be fun, then."

The two exchanged a look before returning their gazes to him, no less anxious then they were before. Harry sighed and tucked the folder of parchments into his robes.

"Right," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. If Molly saw him, she'd take her wand to it. "Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron in the morning at eight, then. We'll go from there. Robards has the guy under surveillance, right?"

The two chorused a "Yes, sir," and gave him a simple salute. Harry held in another sigh. They looked a little skittish, though he wasn't entirely sure if it was Robards's pushing, his own reputation, or his status as the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Defeat-Voldemort.

"Right," Harry said, waving his hand a bit. "In the morning. Don't be late."

The two repeated the "Yes, sir," and the salute as Harry turned from them and made his way down the hallway. He was sorely tempted to lock Robards in his office and let the man stew in there alone.

It didn't take him long to leave the Ministry, a well placed scowl and a brisk pace did well enough to keep most in the building, and all in the Law Enforcement level, at a distance. His dark blue Auror robes, trimmed in Captain's gold and decorated with his badges, kept most of the rest at bay. He was nearly to the Apparation point when he was waylaid by a well-dressed youth.

"Potter!"

Harry stopped and faced the youth, the boy's dark hair was slicked back reminiscent of Malfoy. Harry tried to keep the impatience off his face and pushed at his glasses, settling the frames more firmly on his nose.

"What is it, Leroy?" He asked, eyeing the queue for the Apparation point. If he timed it right, he could probably sneak in between the balding man and the chatty lady behind him with the wide brimmed pink hat.

"What are you still doing here?" Leroy asked him. "Most Aurors are out of here as quick as they can be."

Harry sighed. "Robards wanted a word," He said, keeping one eye on the moving line and one on Leroy.

Leroy nodded, as if that explained everything. If likely did.

"What did you want, Leroy?" Harry asked again, "I've a party to go to that I'm already late for."

"Oh? What's the occasion?"

Harry turned both his eyes to Leroy, no longer able to keep his irritation off his face. "What do you want, Leroy? I'm in a hurry."

Leroy would have huffed if it wasn't above him to do so. Harry was not, nor ever had been, very fond of him. The youth reminded him strongly of a young Draco Malfoy, and the parallels between them never went away.

"Corvus wants to talk to you," Leroy said a bit stiffly. "Said to make sure you go by before you take off on another mission."

Harry let his eyes wander down the corridors towards Corvus' office, hidden deep within the Ministry confines. He really didn't have the time to make it through all the levels and securities to get to the man.

"Is that what he said?" Harry asked a bit absently, eyeing the queue line again.

"Word for word," Leroy said disdainfully.

"Really?" Harry asked, focusing his gaze on the boy.

Leroy sighed and shifted. "He said, tell Potter to drag his sorry arse down to my office before he goes off and gets himself or his partner killed on whatever escapade Robards sends him on, I want a word before I have to hunt down his ghost."

Harry smirked. That sounded much more like Corvus.

"Thanks Leroy," Harry said wryly, watching the pink hat lady chat up the guard at the Apparation point. He would have a few seconds before they managed to push her into place after the balding man ahead of her disapparated.

"You going to talk to him, then?" Leroy asked, clearly displeased by something.

Harry nodded as the bald man disapparated. "Tomorrow."

"What? Potter, Corvus wanted to talk to you!"

Harry waved jauntily as he walked into the Apparation point with barely a by-your-leave to the guards, and disapparated out with a half turn. He was pretty sure Leroy had taken a few steps after him, looking decidedly unhappy.

He appeared on the side of a grassy knoll, a few sparse trees to his left and a large boulder on his right. Glancing around out of habit, Harry shook his blue robes to get them to lay straight after the apparation, using the motion to help sooth his rising irritation with Leroy. Running a hand through his shaggy hair, he began the walk down the small hill to the overgrown field below him and the tilting, familiar Wizarding house beyond.

"Harry!"

The call made him slow and up look into the sky above him, searching out the owner of the voice. He found him on a broom a good few dozen meters above him.

"Ron!" Harry called back, waving. He grinned as the red-head dived his broom and landed next to him. Ron would never be able to gain the speed that Harry could on a broom, he was too heavy in comparison. Harry's much shorter and lighter form could pull speeds out of a broom that Ron's wide, lanky frame would never be able to make without the aid of gravity.

"How's the new model?" Harry asked once Ron had landed, looking over the broom.

Ron grinned and threw the broom over his shoulder and began to walk beside him. "It's working great. Want a go?"

"After dinner," Harry said, eyeing the sleek broom. "It looks good."

Ron continued to grin. "Course it does," He quipped, and clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, "How was your day?"

Harry shrugged, dislodging the hand. "Robards was having fun with a couple new Aurors he's assigned to me for tomorrow."

Ron grimaced. "Again, huh. Rough luck, mate."

"Yeah."

"The Delacours have been here a couple hours," Ron said, waving over at the house, "And mum's gone near spare cause you're so late."

Harry cringed. "She's not going to hex me or nothing, is she? I mean, I'm not that late, and it wasn't my fault anyways."

Ron laughed. "It's never your fault, is it?"

Harry grumbled darkly under his breath.

"Though you might want to watch out for your hair," Ron said, grinning as he eyed the long locks hanging over Harry's eyes and ears, "She'll take a wand to it if you let her."

Harry ran a hand through his hair again, "Yeah, I know. I still remember what she did to Charlie when he let her get too close."

"He'd never let her near him again!" Ron said chuckling.

Harry smiled at the memory. He hadn't seen the sparky Charlie Weasley so morose in years, nor with such short hair.

"Harry James Potter, your late!"

Harry blinked and looked at the door of the Burrow to see Ginny standing with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face.

"Ooo, you _are_ in trouble, mate," Ron said in his ear, "Use of the full name, never a good sign."

"Not my fault!" he said again, knowing that it would do him little good, and elbowing Ron in his ribs.

"I don't care who you're blaming," Ginny said waving a finger at him, "It's your birthday, and you're late!"

Harry held up his hands in surrender.

"You're lucky," Ginny said sternly, "Mum's been fawning over Fleur's new daughter, and then Gabrielle showed up alone through the Floo."

Harry cringed. "I told her not to go through the Floo alone," he offered.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "C'mon, then."

Harry offered the girl a lop-sided smile, and followed her into the house. Ron chuckled as he followed, stowing the new broom against the wall near the door.

"Mum!" Ginny called, as she moved through the kitchen into the living room, "Harry's here and throwing excuses around again."

"Hey!" Harry called after her, "Not my fault!"

"Harry," Molly said, bustling into the kitchen and wrapping him in a hug. "Welcome home, dear."

"Molly," Harry greeted, returning the hug with a kiss to her cheek, and reveling, as always in her affection.

Molly pulled away with a smile, and pulled at his long bangs. "You need a hair cut, Harry, dear." Harry eyed the length of hair between her fingers, going a little cross-eyed.

"Told ya," Ron said from the stove as he snitched a bite to eat.

"Ron, get your fingers out of that pot!" Molly said, leaving Harry to his long hair and shooing Ron out of the kitchen.

"Gabrielle's in the living room, Harry," Molly said with a smile. "And dinner will be ready in just a bit."

"Need any help?" Harry asked, pulling his Auror uniform robes off and hanging them by the door, leaving him in a collared shirt and buckskin slacks tucked into his boots, and his weapons belt exposed. Harry shifted the gun holster around his chest, debating taking it off for the evening, but feeling a bit bare without it.

"No!" Molly said sternly. "It's your birthday, I'll not be having you do anything except enjoying yourself."

"What if I enjoy cooking?"

Molly pursed her lips, though he could see her mirth. "Go!" she said, waving her wooden spoon at him and chasing him out of the kitchen after Ron.

"Alright, alright," Harry said chuckling as he watched the kitchen door shut behind him. He could hear Molly's mutterings as she returned to her cooking.

"Harry, don't you know better than to offer to cook on your birthday, of all days?" Ginny asked from her perch on a windowsill. She was twirling her wand between her fingers and smirking at him.

Harry shrugged with a wry grin, crossing the room to join Gabrielle on the loveseat in the corner. "She never lets me help on holidays," He mumbled.

"You expect her to?" Ginny asked.

Harry gave Gabrielle a bright smile, and a chaste kiss as he sat next to her, wrapping his arms around her slim form.

"Bonjour, bien aimé," Gabrielle said, settling into his arms with a smile.

"Bonjour, Gabrielle," He responded as he happily rested his hands on her belly. "Comment allez vous?"

"Je bien, e tu?"

"Bien, mon amour," Harry said, still smiling and brushed his lips across her temple. He spent most of his day among the Ministry employees hunting down Dark Wizards and dangerous artifacts, a job that gave him increasingly worse headaches over the years. The sight of his pale-haired girl always lifted his mood.

"Look! It's –"

"Ickle-Harri-kins!"

Harry put on a frown as he turned to greet the twins. Fred and George waltzed across the living room from the stairway.

"You know what day it is, right, brother mine?" one of them said to the other.

"Of course I do, George."

"So you know what we have to do," George said.

The two grinned a little evilly and Harry deepened his frown, trying not to smile. Fred sat down next to him in the slim space that was left while the other pulled Gabrielle from his arms and gently placed her in the armchair nearby before he plopped down in her spot.

"Oy!" Harry exclaimed, "You're interrupting."

"Oh, come now, little brother," Fred said, ruffling his hair.

"It's your birthday."

"So you get special treatment."

Harry sniffed. "I was, till you stopped it." He eyed the two on either side of him. "And why would I want any sort of special treatment from either of you?"

"Deal with it Harry," Ginny said from the window. "It's what you get for being late." Harry scowled at her.

"That's right, Harry," Fred said.

"Yes, Harry," George said, throwing an arm over his shoulders, "Listen to your sister."

Fred copied his brother and Harry shifted a bit as he was beginning to feel a bit trapped by the twin terrors.

"Why are you two so excited, anyways?" Harry asked a bit warily. "You just saw me a few days ago."

"Because it's your birthday," George said.

"And since we didn't get to celebrate with you as family,"

"For your first sixteen birthdays."

"We have to double up on the celebrations –"

"Until we catch up, right."

"Right you are, twin of mine." They both slapped his back at the same time, nearly toppling Harry off the couch. Harry sent each a half-hearted glare as Ginny chuckled.

"Every Weasley," Fred declared importantly with a raised finger.

"Even the Honorary, ones," George added.

"Every Weasley," Fred repeated with a nod, "Gets a special birthday present from yours truly."

"This would be your twenty-ninth birthday."

"And since you didn't get anything from us before you became a Weasley –"

"As a fellow Weasley brother, that is."

"You get your present for your eleventh birthday as well!"

"A double dose of fun,"

"From your double trouble brothers!"

The two looked at him expectantly as Harry rose one eyebrow at their antics. They went through the same routine every year, and at every holiday, looking for excuses to give him more trouble than they may otherwise feel obligated to give.

"Hi, Harry," Bill greeted, interrupting the twins as he crossed the room, cradling a small child in his arms.

"Bill," Harry replied, eyeing the child. Bill smiled and shifted the bundle. "Want to hold her?" he asked. Harry nodded with a smile and Bill offered the small child to him. Harry took hold of her gently, cradling her in his arms with ease. The little, red-headed Virginie was not the first baby that Harry had held. He had held each of the many children running through the Burrow, including Bill's older two daughters.

"Great," Bill said, eyeing them a moment. "I'm going to help Charlie set up the tables, Fleur's trying to get Marie into something other than her pajamas."

"Dinner is ready you guys!" Hermione said, poking her head through the door from the back yard. "Oh, hello Harry."

"Hi Hermione."

Hermione caught sight of the twins and narrowed her eyes. "If you two cause any trouble, I'll…"

"Oh don't worry about us," George said, striding out the door, patting Hermione on the head.

"We'll be perfect gentlemen," Fred said as he followed his brother, patting Hermione as well.

Ginny snorted as she went out after them. "Don't worry too much, Hermione," She said, "Harry'll be their main target, anyways." Hermione huffed and disappeared through the door.

Harry nodded, still watching the drowsy child he held. He wagered that the girl had just been woken, though she didn't seem terribly upset about it. Cradled within the nook of one arm, Virginie stared back up at him with bright blue eyes.

"I think," Gabrielle said in a soft voice as she settled next to him again, "That he will look like me and have your mother's eyes."

Harry looked over at her with a smile, his eyes roaming down to her slightly curved belly. Her long hair was loose and framing her body, brushing against her legs as she sat. "You think?"

Gabrielle hummed positively, waving a finger at Virginie's nose. The child giggled and waved her arms, trying to grab her finger.

"Well, hopefully he gets your hair, too," Harry said, "Since mine's untamable."

"I like your hair," Gabrielle replied.

"Sure it'll be a boy?" Harry asked, again eyeing her stomach. "Pomfrey said it's a bit rare to know so early."

"Oh, yes," Gabrielle said meeting his eyes with her blue ones. "I know."

Harry grinned. "Oui, colibri," He whispered against her cheek. Ultimately he didn't care whether his child was a boy or a girl, but the knowing, the ability to use a 'he' or 'she' in reference to the unborn baby was a strange feeling for him and he relished it.

Harry stood, holding the child carefully to his chest with one arm as he offered his other to his wife. Gabrielle smiled as she slipped her arm through his and they made their way out to the back yard.

Harry took in the barely controlled chaos that was a full Weasley family gathering. With only three of seven children not married, there were plenty of people milling around the long table that stretched across the garden. Add to that a few close friends and their families, and the yard was quite full, half of the people there were still too young for Hogwarts.

"Ah, Harry," Arthur greeted, clapping him on the shoulder softly, making sure not to jostle the bundle in his arms. "Thought I saw you across the Atrium as I left, but then you disappeared again."

"Yea, Robards had something come up and I couldn't evade him," Harry said with a slight grimace. "Sorry I'm late, Arthur."

"Not to worry, not to worry," Arthur said, "Not your fault. I know how it goes, after all."

"Dad!" Ginny said from her seat at the table, "Don't tell him that! He could have left any time he wanted, but didn't. You and Percy and I got here with all sorts of time to spare, yet he's nearly an hour late. It was _all_ his fault."

Harry scowled at her, and she smirked at him before turning back to the table in front of her. Her fiancé nodded at him, his arm slung over the back of her chair even as he sat primly in his own.

"Hello, Draco," Harry greeted the pureblood.

"Harry," He replied with a nod, eyeing the child in his arms. "How is life?"

Harry tilted his head to side in a half shrug. "Well enough, though work is giving me a headache."

Draco nodded in sympathy. "Though you are expecting," He said, his eyes traveling to Gabrielle.

Harry grinned as he looked at his wife. "Yes."

"Hey, Malfoy," Ron said as he plopped down in a chair near the blonde. Draco turned around to look at Ron, his eyebrow raised slightly at the greeting.

Harry didn't hear the exchange, though he did see Ginny watching the two warily. Ron still hadn't completely come to terms with the idea that his little sister was going to marry a Slytherin, no matter how good the kid was at chess. That the Slytherin was Draco Malfoy – long time rival and all around prat in Hogwarts, just ticked Ron off even more, though Harry was pleased to see that neither of them pulled their wands on sight anymore.

Arthur shrugged at him a bit helplessly before waggling a finger at the baby in his arms and wandering away. Harry let Gabrielle steer him around the table while he kept half a mind to the precious bundle in his arms and the rest to the various people he passed as he went.

Bill and Charlie were still throwing charms at a couple of spare chairs in the corner of the garden and making them duel each other like competing bucks for the entertainment of the children scattered around them. Percy nodded to him and offered him congratulations while he tried to make his son's tie straight, a feat Louis obviously wasn't appreciating. Harry rather thought that five was a bit young to be making the boy wear a tie at a family affair. He gave Louis a fairly good impression of his father when Percy wasn't looking, which made the boy chuckle. Hermione hit him on his head as she passed, having obviously seen the exchange. Harry ducked his head and tried to look contrite, but sent a wink at his honorary nephew anyways.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Remus greeted with a smile and ruffling Harry's hair. "You better watch your hair around Molly, you know."

Harry gave the werewolf a crooked grin. "Yeah, I know."

Remus glanced around the garden before going a bit pale and leaving in a hurry, yelling his son's name as he went. Harry watched as Remus reached the two-year-old Lovell, who had managed to find a gnome and was wrestling with it while another sandy-haired boy watched on in horror.

Harry just grinned at the sight and let Gabrielle guide him around the table.

Harry settled into a chair near the center of the table, watching Gabrielle do the same, as he shifted Virginie so that she was upright against his shoulder. The newest addition to the Weasley name made happy noises into his ear as she bounced her feet against his leg. He shifted his grip a bit to make sure that she wasn't going to slip off his lap.

"Alright everyone," Molly's voice rose above most of the various conversations around the garden. "Sit down, sit down, let's eat. Bill, Charlie, stop that ruckus already."

Harry watched as the family congregated to the table, smaller family units split up a bit as the children sat near to their cousins instead of their parents. Charlie's twin boys had been recruited by their twin uncles and had taken over the far end of the table and were already whispering to each other. Fred and George were passing on their skills well and early. The younger twins were only three. Harry made sure to keep an eye on all four of them.

Hermione had made sure that her son Thaddeus was seated between her and Ron, the better to keep an eye on his mischief, though she left her daughter to her own devices after a stern look to behave. Percy's close proximity with his two impeccably behaved sons no doubt aided in keeping an eye on the three boys, though Ron's antics to stir up a bit of fun didn't help any of them. Hermione simply rolled her eyes at the father-son pair.

Harry grinned openly, happy as can be. There were few times that he actually found himself taking his family for granted. He had grown up without any sort of familial atmosphere outside of the Dursley's sour treatment, so with his unofficial inclusion into the Weasley house, he had resolved himself to enjoy every minute of it. Even after so many years, that resolve was still in place.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Gabrielle said, leaning over to whisper in his ear. Harry smiled and turned to her, knowing that she realized exactly how he felt.

His greatest gift had always been the family that he had always wanted, and received.

Gabrielle and Fleur picked up a soft voiced conversation in rapid French, only part of which Harry was able to catch. He generally left the sisters to their conversation, keeping half an eye on his pregnant wife since he couldn't help himself but to watch her.

At some point the baby Virginie was exchanged for the one-year-old Harvey, and Harry gave up all pretense to eating.

"I want to hold my beautiful new granddaughter, Harry," Molly said with a kiss pressed to his cheek as she pulled the bouncing baby into her arms. A moment later Charlie walked by and deposited the slightly sticky Harvey in his lap with a jaunty grin and a "Here ya go, Harry."

Harvey had already eaten once Harry got him. Harvey's growing curiosity, however, drove him to checking out Harry's half eaten meal and forcing him to confiscate whatever bit of food he had nabbed, a continued contest that was amusing Fleur's young girl seated next him greatly.

Finally Gabrielle moved the plate out of the boy's reach and Harvey turned to other amusements, namely the wand that Harry pulled out of his own sleeve in order to keep the child away from his gun and the potions tucked into his belt. Harvey spent the following bit of time waving the wand around harmlessly, though it occasionally emitted a dull golden spark. Every time the wand did this, Harvey would stare at the spark as it floated around him wide-eyed until it vanished, then he'd repeat the process over again.

Harry ignored Hermione and Percy's disapproving frowns at the idea of giving a toddler access to a wand. Harry was just happy that the boy wasn't trying to pull on his over-long hair anymore. Molly was already fingering her own wand and kept sending him looks. Harry was pretty sure that he'd wind up getting his hair cut before he left.

Dinner ended slowly. The children finishing much faster than their parents and wandered away into the garden to find amusements as the adults descended into conversation. Percy was debating academics between Hermione and Penelope while Ron rolled his eyes and made faces at them over Hermione's shoulder, much to their boys' continued amusement. Harry listened to Fleur and Gabrielle's conversation in French, occasionally adding his own thoughts when he could fully understand their rapid French.

"Harvey not bothrin' ya too much, is he Harry?" Charlie asked as he plopped into the vacated seat next to him with a wry grin.

"Nope," Harry said as Harvey managed to get another few sparks to shower out of his wand. "Not at all."

Charlie laughed and ruffled Harvey's messy red hair. The boy sent his father a toothy grin before returning to his wand waving.

"How's that new broom of yours, Ron?" Charlie asked across the table.

"Flies like a queen," Ron said proudly, leaning back in his chair and gesturing wildly with his hands. "You and Harry should give her a go. The twins would never catch ya."

"No chance, huh?" Charlie said.

Ron shook his head. "Not with you two on her. She's my best piece of work, yet. You'd both love her."

"What's her name, then?" Harry asked, amused with Ron's dreamy look and Hermione's long-suffering sighs.

"Silver Hornet," Ron said with a smug smile. "She'll be the fastest new broom available. She's got so many charms on her, you could three-sixty at top speed and still manage to stay on."

"Sounds like a dream," Charlie said, "You only got one model here?"

Ron grinned and held up two fingers, "Nah, brought two."

Harry and Charlie exchanged a glance, clearly both thinking the same thing.

"Wanna race little brother?" Charlie asked a wide grin on his face. Harry smirked back at him.

"You need to ask?" Harry said, grinning.

Charlie gave a rumbling laugh and plucked his son from Harry's lap and held the boy at arms length as he delivered the child to its exasperated mother. Harry cast a few cleaning spells over himself, hoping to get most of the leftover stickiness off.

"Ready Harry?" Charlie asked, pulling Ron bodily from his chair, which was a bit of a feat, as Ron had become taller and broader than all his older brothers, especially the slighter Charlie.

Harry grinned, rising and giving Gabrielle a quick kiss. She smiled after him before returning to her conversation with her sister. Fleur barely nodded as he left.

Harry laughed as he followed Charlie, who still had a hold of Ron, around to the side of the house and the open field. The three managed to gather most of the children as they went, as well as a few of the adults interested in seeing how the two Seekers flew on Ron's new design.

"Now," Ron said, glowering a bit at Charlie after he'd freed himself, "We've put these brooms through every test we can without actually putting a Seeker on them, so you two are the first to put the Silver Hornet through its paces properly."

Charlie clapped his hands together, grinning and eyeing the two brooms in Ron's hands eagerly. Harry felt an answering grin on his own face.

"Do be careful," Hermione said pulling her wand out of her sleeve.

"Don't think we're actually going to fall off, do ya?" Charlie asked her.

Hermione just raised an eyebrow and didn't comment.

"You have before," Bill commented, his wand in his hand as well.

Harry rolled his eyes and shared a look with Charlie. "No faith at all," He said as he rolled up his sleeves and unbuckled his gun holster. A moment later he pulled off his loaded belt as well and handed the two items to Bill.

"No faith at all," Charlie repeated taking one of the brooms from Ron. Harry followed suit, feeling the charms vibrate a bit under his hand as he mounted. With a shared grin the two Seekers shot up into the air.

Ron was right in his assessment that they flew like a queen. Harry hadn't been on a broom with such a smooth flight. He and Charlie started a bit slow – for them, testing the broom's limits, and getting used to the feel of them with simple maneuvers and tricks.

It didn't take Harry too long before he grew confident enough for a Wronski Feint, just as Charlie passed close to him at a high speed.

Harry felt the turbulence of the other man's passing and let the wind catch the bristles of his broom, spinning the broom dangerously and tilting him sideways. Harry rode it out, tucking his feet up under him, clutching the broom tightly with the ankles of his stiff boots. As he seemed to still for a moment, the broom nearly on top of him and the front end pointing towards the ground, Harry took a firmer grip of the broom handle and shot forward.

He dived straight for the crowd, his grip a bit precarious as he was still hanging from the broom more than he was on it, but he pulled his body close to the handle, spinning himself and the broom so that he was more upright. With his feet still wrapped around the handle, it was easy to move himself so that he was standing on the broom, crouched low with his hands griping the handle tightly.

As he was close enough to the crowd below him to see Hermione's frown, Harry pushed hard with his feet, pulling the broom up vertically and slowing his descent. The rapid stop nearly made him tumble backwards off the broom, as he lay low over the handle again and shot up into the sky.

He heard Ron whoop, and Hermione holler after him at his daring. Charlie sped around him as he leveled out, both of them grinning.

"Mum's gonna hex you silly, ya know," Charlie said, pointing down at the Weasley Matriarch. Harry winced as he saw that she already had her wand out and was glaring up at them.

"Oops," Harry offered a bit sheepishly. Charlie laughed uproarisly.

"Nice move, though, you may not live long enough to repeat it!" he said around his laughter.

"Maybe I'll spend the rest of my days up here, then," Harry said, still eyeing Molly warily.

"Ya may not have too many left," Charlie said flying off in tight-looped spiral. Harry shook his head after him, and rolled into a loose dive, farther away from those on the ground.

Harry and Charlie gave the brooms a good working through, diving around each other and the trees on the lawn for a while, seeing how tight they could turn, and how fast. They forwent letting a snitch loose, as it was growing dark, so the twins brought out a couple bludgers and proceeded to try to knock them off their brooms. The testing of the new broom models rapidly deteriorated from that point. Once one of the bludgers got away and nearly hit a tree a little too close to the table in the garden, Molly forced them to put the balls away.

Harry finally gave up the broom to Ron with a "Great work, mate." Harry retrieved his weapons from Bill and joined Gabrielle at the table as she watched the children vie for turns.

"Have fun?" Gabrielle asked, smiling as he slouched into the chair next to her.

Harry nodded. "Ron did a good job. It's a slick broom, great acceleration, nice turns, smooth fly. I'm impressed."

Gabrielle smiled at him again. "Ron vill be pleased, then."

"I'm sure he already is," Harry said with a chuckle, "He knows when he's got a good model in his hands."

"How vas work?" Gabrielle asked.

Harry sighed. "Robards assigned two new Aurors to me for a mission in the morning."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Some guy is selling cursed artifacts to Muggles."

"Vill it take all day?"

Harry looked over to her, sorry that he once again had to go to work on a Saturday. "I sure hope not. At least it shouldn't, but you never know."

Gabrielle nodded, and gave him a small smile. "You vill be careful, and come home for dinner, bien aimé"

Harry smiled. "And I'll try not to be late."

The evening waned on and the families began to leave. Percy and Penelope were the first, as they usually were, lining up their two sons in front of the Floo as Percy shook Harry's hand. Bill and Fleur and their three daughters followed, and then Draco who was still not fully comfortable around the entire Weasley family.

"Gave mum a right scare, Harry," Charlie said, the still sticky Harvey sleeping in his arms. "I'd watch yourself for a while."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said grinning.

Charlie's wife took Harvey from him and stepped into the fireplace, her darker skin highlighted by the fire a bit.

"Don't make the twins too late, Charlie," She said sternly.

"Of course not," Charlie said, eyeing the two sets of twins out the window in the garden.

She didn't look terribly convinced as she called out "Dragon's Den," and disappeared with the youngster in her arms.

"I better go make sure Fred and George aren't trying to transfigure a couple gnomes to look like my sons again," Charlie said as he left the living room. Harry shook his head as he left.

Harry followed after him and rejoined those left in the garden, their conversations turning to more mundane topics as they all caught up with each others' lives. Tonks at one point walked around the table from the yard and deposited Lovell in Remus' arms.

"Keep an eye on the rascal, eh Remus luv," Tonks said sweetly, "I have to chase down _your_ other son."

"_My_ son?" Remus responded, wrapping his arms around his young son to keep the two-year-old from wriggling off his lap.

Tonks responded with a slightly dangerous glint and marched back off towards the yard. Remus blinked after her a bit, still holding onto Lovell tightly.

Harry laughed, and took Lovell from the man, holding the youngster above his head as the boy squealed in delight. The boy still looked a little ruffed up from his tussle with the garden gnome. Harry rather thought that the two-year-old might have won the battle if Remus hadn't interrupted.

Neville's and Ron's families left shortly after, leaving the garden more sparse, though barely less chaotic than it had been when Harry had arrived.

"Harry, dear, you should let me cut your hair," Molly said.

Charlie and Remus laughed at him as she ushered him into a chair and pulled her wand. Harry sent the two cowering looks, but that only made them laugh the harder. Sitting Lovell in his lap, Harry allowed Molly to pull at his hair and mutter about its length. Lovell stared up at him, his eyes wide as he watched.

Harry sat still, holding onto his youngest Godchild while the boy tried to catch the trimmings of his hair that Molly cut. Harry watched the dark hairs fall around him, suffering through Charlie and Remus' catcalls and vowing to hex the lot of them. By the time Molly was finished, the twins and Remus's eldest son, Teddy, had joined in with Charlie and Remus, making Harry alternate between bursts of laughter and glares of retribution.

Once Molly had banished the cuttings, Harry ran a hand through his much shorter hair, grimacing slightly at its length. It was a bit shorter than he usually liked it to be, but he should have known that Molly would cut it so effectively. Harry smiled at her and handed Lovell over. Molly took the boy with a smile and a pat on his shoulder as Harry turned to look at the peanut gallery.

The twins recognized his look before the others did, and the two each picked up one of their younger counterparts before scattering across the garden, the young twins thrown over their shoulders.

"Run! Run! Run!" Fred and George called out dramatically, the young twins giggling over their shoulders.

"Harry's out for vengeance!"

Charlie and Remus exchanged looks before following, pulling Teddy along with them as they tried to get away. Harry grinned evilly and pulled out his wand as he chased them down.

By the time they all returned to the garden, all four of the twins had bright pink hair, George's ears were twice their normal size while Fred's feet were in clown shoes that quacked as he walked. Remus was sporting a rather interesting purple spotted hat that refused to leave his head and seemed to be feeding on his hair, and Charlie and Teddy were attached at the hip – literally.

Harry was smirking in triumph as he herded them towards the table, his only wound for show being a series of blue spots running up his arms. He had managed to make them stop itching, but he hadn't yet been able to counter the interesting color pattern.

Molly huffed at them, while sending disapproving looks towards her husband as he tried to stifle his laughs. Harry just grinned and slid into a chair besides Gabrielle, his wand twirling between his fingers.

Ginny smirked at the boys. "You all got what you asked for you know," She said, decidedly smug about the thrashing Harry had given them. She seemed especially interested in how Charlie and Teddy were attached.

Gabrielle chuckled at the show, leaning against Harry a bit, and inspecting the blue spots along his arms. Harry rather thought they looked a bit like leopard spots.

"Very pretty," She commented.

"Ready to go home?" Harry asked Gabrielle.

She ran a hand along his arm and nodded with a smile. "You have an early morning."

Harry nodded and helped her stand, wrapping an arm around her slim form.

He bid goodbye to the family some of them following him into the house as he retrieved his robes. Charlie and Teddy hobbled after him, Charlie all but carrying the younger boy under his arm as they tried to get Harry to reverse the charm that stuck them together. Harry chuckled at their pleading and threats as he slipped into his Auror robes.

"You two got what you deserved, you know," Harry repeated Ginny's statement.

They glowered at him, Teddy actually emitting a bit of a growl, which caused Remus to laugh outright, having managed to get rid of the hat from his head. "See ya later, Harry," Remus said, still chuckling at his son's plight.

"Bye, Harry," Arthur said, smiling at them. "Take care and keep in touch, else Molly will start to worry."

"Course, Arthur," Harry said, pulling Gabrielle into his arms as they stepped into the fireplace.

"Send us an Owl, Harry, dear!" Molly called from the kitchen with a wave.

Harry waved at them, and sent Charlie and Teddy a smirk before pulling Gabrielle against him and throwing the Floo powder at his feet.

"Heron's Cove," He said as he put both arms around his wife as they went spinning through the Floo system.

They shot out of the Floo with considerably more grace than Harry's singular habit of doing so. He fully laid the credit for that on his wife, who would walk out of a Floo with barely a by-your-leave while he had the tendency to tumble and roll and generally make a fool of himself.

Keeping one arm around the small form of Gabrielle, Harry guided her through the living room and into the modest house.

"Was it a nice party?" she asked, letting him guide her to their bedroom.

Harry nodded. "They always are," He said with a fond smile.

She smiled up at him. "Happy birthday, bien aimé."

"Ah, mon Colibri," Harry said and kissed her as he walked, laying one hand across her belly and feeling her laugh silently against him.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**A/N:** Harry and Gabrielle's conversation in French was a pretty basic greeting exchange, I thought it was easy enough to translate the gist of it without actually giving you the translation in the story – then again, I took a couple French classes back in high school, so I could be biased on that opinion. Here's some of the French used in this chapter:

"Bonjour" = hello

"Comment allez vous?" = How are you?

"Je bien, e tu?" = I'm fine, and you?

"Bien, mon amour." = Good, my love.

"Oui" = yes

"Bien aimé." = well beloved (what Gabrielle calls Harry)

"(mon) Colibri" = (my) hummingbird (what Harry calls Gabrielle)


	6. Live My Son 02

Live, My Son – 02

**Please Note: **That these chapters are NOT one storyline, and many are unrelated. This is simply a mass dump of various scenes, story ideas, and miscellaneous dialogues that are not formed into a cohesive story or plot (no matter how much they may seem like they are). I post them here because they are interesting ideas, and I like to share. If there are multiple postings from the same story/plot than the chapters will be titled the same & numbers in order. Thanks.

**Author's Note:** Live, My Son is a one-shot posted in my library here. This is a continuation idea from that universe.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Live, My Son – Continuation 02**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

Severus was a habitually early riser. It was a habit that he gained during his student days within the Slytherin dormitory. It wouldn't do for a Slytherin to be late after all.

"You still don't know how to sleep in, I see."

Severus lowered his tea to take in the sight a sleep rumpled Harry Potter. "I see that you have learned how to get up in the morning." He replied in good humor.

"Well," Harry said as he sat across from him at the table, "Since you're here, I decided not to tempt you and get up before you went looking for me."

"Not fond of a wet awakening?" Severus asked with a smirk, remembering the time that Harry had spent with him when he would be forced to drag the youth from his bed.

"Not in the least."

"How disappointing." Severus returned his attention to his tea while Harry fixed his own. They sat in silence through the dawn, sipping their tea in a comfortable companionship.

"What do you do here?" Severus asked.

"What do I do?" Harry sat his cup down on the table. "I continue to live." He said with a small smile.

Severus saw the lingering sadness in the young man's eyes, and felt it reflected in his own. "Of course." He said, raising his cup to his lips again.

"I suppose I run the Ranch." Harry said somewhat absently, "I don't have a regular job, really. I remain here and watch the children, help teach them, that sort of thing."

Severus eyed the younger man over the rim of his mug. Harry was staring out the window that looked over the barns and fields beyond. Fall had brought cooler nights, and the grass was covered with a fine layer of dew.

"Is that all?" Severus said.

Harry turned from the view and met Severus' eyes.

"That's all." He said with a small smile.

Severus grunted and returned to his tea.

"Some of the others work down in the town." Harry said. "The twins own and run two shops in New Hope, I'm sure you saw them, the candy store and the sports shop."

Severus nodded, remembering the two stores in question.

"Draco and Bill both work part time in New Hope as well. Ron is a broom maker." Harry continued, "His newest line is scheduled to hit the shelves come October. Some of the kids are quite excited about it."

Severus raised an eyebrow at that. "Weasley is designing brooms?"

Harry chuckled. "He's quite good. He's got plenty of people here to test them out too, between us all."

"Indeed." Severus smirked a bit. "Many of you spent much of your youths upon a broom. No doubt it's why your grades were so abysmal."

"Hey! My grades were just fine, thank you."

"You were hardly at the top of your class, and you only got close after you were banned from the game, thus you had more time to devote to your studies." Severus said.

Harry scowled. "Hardly my fault, that."

"And a good thing, too."

Harry curled his lip at him, not bothering to argue. They both knew Severus was right. Harry's grades had improved after he no longer played Quidditch.

"Charlie stays here and works with the animals we've got scattered around, mostly." Harry continued his previous topic, "He teaches the equivalent of Care of Magical Creatures. The rest usually teach here as well, in various subjects."

Severus nodded. "Do you teach only the children here, or do you run a school from one of the barns for the kids of the town?"

"We do hold classes in the barn." Harry laughed. "But it's usually just our own children. There's a school in the town for those who live there."

"What do you teach them?" Severus asked.

"Who said I taught?"

"I do believe you did."

"Ah, right." Harry set his cup down and looked out the window. "Usually I teach the basics of Defense, though Bill covers most of it."

"What a surprise." Severus said. "You should know what you're doing, all things considered."

"One would assume." Harry said, still staring out the window. Severus turned to the window as well, remembering. Harry had many teachers during his years at Hogwarts, Severus was only one of them. The boy had been trained to fight, to kill. Severus could see how it was difficult for Harry to pass on those skills, when with each lesson he taught, he would remember why he had been taught them in the first place.

"You know," Harry said suddenly, meeting Severus' eyes, "We could use an extra hand to teach Potions."

Severus paled slightly. "Don't even think about it, Potter. I am not teaching your brats the finer points of the art that is potions."

Harry smirked. "Then you would prefer to leave them to Neville?"

"What?!" Severus sat up in shock, "You've got that…that…him teaching potions!"

"He's not that bad." Harry said seriously. "We only get a few explosions a lesson. Hardly anything to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about? Are you mad?"

"Some believe so."

Severus narrowed his eyes at the younger man. "You would be better than Longbottom at teaching potions."

"Why thank you."

"That was hardly a compliment. A Muggle would be a better option."

"Neville did very well in his Muggle chemistry class." Harry offered.

"Muggle chemistry?" Severus said incredulously.

Harry nodded. "Yes, a few of us took some courses at a Muggle university some years ago. Neville did very well, especially in biology and the courses on botany."

"You can not expect a chemist to know anything about potions." Severus said. "That's ridiculous."

"Why is that?"

"They may have their similarities, but the two subjects are completely different."

"Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'. Very articulate, Potter."

"Yes, well…"

"Where do you have the lab?"

"Out in the barn."

"The barn?" Severus asked, "No, don't answer that, where is it? I've got to get that menace out of there before nothing is left."

"Uh, the larger of the two, in the back to the left." Harry said, pointing out the door.

Severus rose, tea forgotten, and left the kitchen area.

Harry leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea, and grinning from ear to ear.

"It is far too early to be that happy." A voice said from the door.

Harry turned to take in the new arrival, his grin never leaving.

"Morning, Draco."

"What did you do?" the blonde asked warily, taking in the half empty cup of tea on the table across from Harry.

"I just got Severus to think that he has to save us all from Neville's attempts to teach the kids potions."

Draco raised an eyebrow at him, and went to the window to look out at the barn. Severus' dark form glided across the lawn towards the buildings.

"How did you manage that?"

"Oh, it was very easy, really." Harry said, nonchalantly, sipping his tea.

Draco turned from the window to take in the other man. "Potter, are you sure you're not channeling Dumbledore?"

Harry laughed.

oooOoooOoooOooo


	7. Solvo Vita 03

Solvo Vita 02

**Please Note: **That these chapters are NOT one storyline, and many are unrelated. This is simply a mass dump of various scenes, story ideas, and miscellaneous dialogues that are not formed into a cohesive story or plot (no matter how much they may seem like they are). I post them here because they are interesting ideas, and I like to share. If there are multiple postings from the same story/plot than the chapters will be titled the same & numbered in order. Thanks.

**Solvo Vita** is an old storyline I had started up, one of my first Harry Potter fanfic ideas, though not the very first. The first few chapters were written out and a good idea of the overall plotline had been mapped, but I doubt I'd actually ever finish the monstrosity that it had become. Thus, you get the various written chapters and scenes in this miscellany. :D

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Solvo Vita 03**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

"_Darkness crept back into the forest of the world. Rumor grew of a shadow in the east, whispers of a nameless fear." Galadriel, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Movie_

Harry eyed the landscape before him with barely contained distaste. "It just had to be Egypt." He mumbled darkly, "It's nothing but pyramids and sand." His eyes scanned the horizon. The Nile River was somewhere behind him, though he could no longer see it. "No pyramids; just sand."

"What are you mumbling about, Potter?"

"And ungrateful prats." Harry said under his breath. Louder, he addressed his companion, "Where are we going, Draco?"

"Sightseeing."

Harry tore his gaze from the landscape to stare incredulously at his friend. "At three in the bloody morning?!"

"Would you rather we traipse around in the scorching sun at three in the afternoon?" Draco said. Harry watched dispassionately as the blonde wrapped a turban around his head. It was strangely reminiscent of Quirrel.

"I'm getting flashbacks to my first year at Hogwarts." Harry mumbled and dropped unceremoniously to the ground where he attempted to untie the knot of his shoelaces. "I thought you were supposed to attend some Antiquities thing." Harry said, struggling with the ties on one of his boots.

"Technically I am, I suppose."

"So, why are we running around in the sweltering desert of Egypt instead of milling about in an over-crowded exhibit hall?" Harry finally untied the knot of laces.

"Would you rather be at the Conference?" Draco asked, watching Harry's progress with apparent interest. No doubt he was highly amused by his friend's struggles with his footwear.

Harry thought about that. "Not particularly." He gave a yank on his boot and grunted as he pulled it off his foot. Tipping it upside down, he watched as a pound of sand spilled out of it.

"Who said we're skiving out of it?" Draco said, "It doesn't begin until dawn."

Harry sent him an irritated look before returning to his boots.

"Possibly because we've already been out in this desert for three hours, and I figure it'll take at least that long to get back to the city." Harry said and pulled his now sand-free boot back onto his foot and wiggled his toes around. "And since we've yet to reach our destination I assume we'll be out here for a considerably longer amount of time, thus you're skiving out of it, and I still want to know why."

"Because I had no interest in attending." Draco said. "That and the dinner last night was more important. Really, would you expect anyone to actually find us in the crowd that will be at that bloody conference?"

"We do kind of stand out." Harry said as he began the process with his second boot. "Considering our clothing and all."

"True, but I don't much care."

"Figured as much, as we're out here in the sand rather than sipping warm wine in old alabaster halls."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you have a flare for the dramatic?" Draco asked.

"Severus mentioned it once; said it ran in the family, and then he kicked me out and didn't talk to me for over a week." Harry dumped the sand out of his second boot. "That was about two or three years ago."

"Was that what happened?"

"Mmm. I figured he wasn't fond of being reminded of James."

"You did look like him rather a lot."

"Sons tend to look like their fathers, Draco, and there wasn't anything I could do about it. Severus just has a habit of holding a grudge for far longer than is healthy." Harry said as he pulled on his boot and laced it back up. "You do know that I'm not fond of sand, right?"

Draco smirked. "Why do you think we're out here?"

"I had hoped there was a purpose to this little trek besides the 'annoy Potter' aspect." Harry grumped. He took a good look around him, and saw nothing but endless hills of sand. His so-called friend had dragged him out into Egypt's countryside for some Merlin-cursed reason as soon as midnight rolled around. Harry had never been perky when woken from a deep sleep, and he didn't much like sand, especially in his shoes. The combination of the two plus the hot environ caused him to be more than a little grumpy, particularly towards his companion, who looked quite comfortable, thank you very much. "Where are we anyways?"

"Somewhere on the east side of the Nile I'd suspect."

Harry sent a glare towards his companion. "Bastard."

"Come on, Potter." Draco began walking across the sand again. Harry sighed and followed. He had nothing better to do, as he had no idea which way was which. How Draco managed to find his directions in this kind of terrain, Harry had no idea. Come to think of it, he had no idea where they were headed either.

"Are you going to tell me your intended destination, Malfoy?" he said irritably. Draco shot a look back to him and Harry gave in to the childish impulse to stick his tongue out. Draco sniffed arrogantly and turned away from him.

"It is a tomb."

"A tomb, you mean like a pyramid?" Harry asked, catching up to his friend and walking beside him.

"Not all tombs are pyramids, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. "So what's so special about this tomb-that's-not-a-pyramid that you had to drag me out of bed to traipse around in the desert anticipating the rising sun?"

Draco glowered and sent a nasty glare towards the east. "Don't remind me, Potter. And we're out here because I intend to take advantage of this trip to do a little sightseeing."

"While letting your responsibilities to the Ministry suffer."

"I know you don't care about my job with the Ministry, Potter, so don't pretend to."

"Hey, I'm just trying to salvage your declining reputation, Lord Malfoy."

"Nothing can help my reputation after being seen with you and your mutt of a Godfather."

"Yea, thanks a lot." Harry mumbled. "And Sirius isn't a mutt, he's of pure-bred stock, I'll have you know."

"Ah yes, the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black."

"You're related to that House, remember." Harry pointed out. "And, therefore, related to Sirius."

"Who ever said that I had to like my relations? I never chose them."

Harry grumbled irritably under his breath. He knew all too well about faulty relatives. The Dursleys were about as bad as they got. "At least you didn't have to live with them."

"I had to live with my father." Draco said softly. Harry didn't respond. Lucius Malfoy remained an ardent supporter of Voldemort up until and beyond the Dark Lord's demise. The Ministry nor the Order never did find him. He was reported dead some years after Voldemort's last fall, but no one ever found a body to confirm the rumors.

The two continued in a much more subdued mood.

"You know," Harry began softly, "It's unlikely that he's still alive after all this time."

Draco didn't grace him with a response.

"The last any one saw of him he was barely breathing." He continued.

"I know that." Draco snapped.

Harry paused and took in his companion as Draco continued to walk across the sand. The blonde's spine was stiff, and he wasn't walking quite as gracefully as he would normally. Harry ran a bit and placed a hand on his shoulder, halting their progress.

"Draco, they are only rumors." He said softly.

"Rumors always have a source."

"But not necessarily a reliable one."

"Potter," Draco scowled, "three people have said that they've spotted my father running around Eastern Europe. That's not exactly a comforting thought to me!"

Harry pursed his lips. "That may be, but people always think they see those who are dead and famous."

"Infamous, more like."

"Draco," Harry began, "Why, in Merlin's name, would your father be in Germany?"

The blonde sent him an irritated look. "How should I know?"

"There's no sense to it. What's there for him?"  
"The Dark Forest."

"For what; to hide?" Harry said, "You and I both know that the Dark Forest is crawling with Vampires, it's practically theirs in all but legality. Lucius would hardly stand a chance within it."

"Unless he was working with them."

Harry growled irritably. "Lestant would have no use for him, and there is hardly anything in Lucuis' possession that he could possibly offer to the Vampires besides his life, and that's hardly much to bargain with for them."

Draco turned away from him and scuffed a foot in the sand in an unusually nervous gesture. "I know it doesn't make sense."

"But," prompted Harry.

"But it's all a bit too coincidental, don't you think? The increase in Vampire attacks throughout Europe, dark magic spikes in odd locations, and now these rumors about Lucius."

"I admit it does seem odd," Harry said, "But we've had all these incidents in the past."

"Just not all at the same time." Draco pointed out. Harry nodded his acquiescence. It was true that all the individual incidents on their own weren't anything to worry about overly much, but with everything occurring at the same time…that was another matter.

Draco turned to study his companions intently. "Are you sure you haven't felt anything?"

Harry scowled. "I'm sure. I think I would know if this blasted scar started acting up again. I haven't felt so much as a twinge since Voldemort's destruction."

Draco didn't look like he believed him. Harry sighed and ran a hand through his long hair. "Draco, we've been over this. The only way that anyone could claim the Power of Slytherin is if they found his Lair, and no one even knows where to begin to look. Not to mention that any recipient would have to be a blood descendant, and there is no one alive with Slytherin's blood in their veins."

"What about the undead?"

"What about them? Most of the undead loose any blood they may carry at their death."

"Uh, hello," said Draco, waving his hand around in front of him, "Vampires!"

Harry made a face. "Vampires carry a different type of blood. Even if one of them were born to Slytherin's line, their blood was changed at their Turning, and thus are no longer a part of their previous life's bloodline."

"That's confusing, and not all that comforting."

"It means that no Vampire, or other various form of the Undead, can lay claim to the line of their birth, including Slytherin's."

"Yea, I figured." Draco said hotly. Harry made a face at him.

"Look," Harry said, "I can't think of any way that Lucius would be able to claim the Power of Slytherin unless he was able to raise the dead, and there isn't anything left of Voldemort to raise."

"What about his parents?" Draco challenged.

"I spent three years running around the greater part of Europe destroying the remains of any remote descendant of Salazar Slytherin," Harry said a bit irritably. "The Power of Slytherin is contained only in his Lair by the damn Founder's own default. Even if someone did manage to find where the Lair is, they would have to get in it, get through it and then find what they were looking for without being torn apart by the paranoid man's traps." Harry took a breath and looked over the horizon around them, "And they would still have to somehow find some trace of blood from one of his descendents, and I'm nearly positive that I destroyed all of them."

"_Nearly_ positive, Potter," Draco snarled, "That's hardly reassuring."

Harry sent his companion a glare. "Its not like I know what Salazar kept in his Lair! I have no idea what's inside that castle or fortress that he's got hidden away somewhere. For all I know, Salazar himself is buried there."

"That's grand," Draco mumbled, "just what we need, someone to find his body and resurrect him."

"Remember, they need to find the Lair first, and that's nearly impossible without Slytherin's blood, and there are no more descendents."

"You said 'nearly' again." Draco pointed out.

Harry scowled irritably and stalked away from his friend. "I don't know everything, Draco."

"Well that's obvious…" Draco said, following him.

"And I was never able to find his Lair to destroy it, which very well may have been my problem, so I have no idea what he's got in it. It is possible for someone else to find, but like I said before, it's nearly impossible."

"I don't like it when you use 'nearly', it usually means 'definitely', with your abysmal luck."

Harry glared at him, irked.

"I don't like the prospect of the Power of Slytherin becoming active again any more than you do, least of all to the one man who's got a serious grudge against the wizarding world and me in particular."

Draco didn't say anything, but he did give Harry a look of understanding. Harry sighed and followed his friend across the sand. They continued in silence, each buried in their own thoughts.

oooOoooOoooOooo

The tomb Draco dragged them to wasn't all that grand, certainly nothing like what Harry pictured from the typical images of Egypt. There was no alabaster stone pillars, no limestone halls covered with painted images, and none of the imagined gold and stone statues.

Harry actually thought that it was more like a dingy hole in the ground.

It certainly wasn't much to look at. He looked around them with a scowl. The tomb was dark, dank and dingy, and reminded him very strongly of dungeons.

"This is eerie."

Draco glanced over at him before returning to his apparently futile attempts to light a torch.

"It's a tomb, Potter," he said, "What did you expect?"

"You know," he said as he tried to inspect a heiroglyphed wall, "I was turned off of cellars by the Dursleys, and Severus effectively curtailed any fondness I might have had for dungeons, and Voldemort had a thing with graveyards, which are eerily similar to tombs, I've discovered."

"You're point, Potter?"

Harry looked around the dark chamber, "This place is eerie."

Draco cursed silently, in French, and sent the stubborn torch a dark look. Harry, despite being amused by his friend's failure to create a fire, couldn't quite bring himself to chuckle. He studied the dark hall, trying to ignore the feeling of unease in his stomach.

"Pull yourself together, and come on." Draco said, and led the way with mage light.

Harry sniffed indignantly before following his companion into the passageway.

"Hey, Draco?"

"What?"

"What tomb is this?"

"What?"

"There aren't any lights." Harry said, inspecting the stretch of stone.

"Lights?" Draco stopped and turned to look at him.

"Yeah, you know, Muggle lights, electricity."

"There are tourist attractions in the wizarding world that the Muggles don't know about, Potter."

"I realize that, it's just…" Harry trailed off, looking back towards the entrance down the length of the hallway. His feeling of unease only grew the longer they were in the tomb, and he had long ago learned not to ignore is instincts.

"You're paranoid, you know that." Draco said and turned to continue down the hall.

Harry snorted. "Perhaps so, but I've reason to be."

Draco didn't respond, but his mage light flickered irritably for a moment.

After an indeterminate length of time, they exited the hallway into a dark chamber.

"Lumos," Harry whispered, adding his own light to that of Draco's. Even with both glowing spheres, the far walls of the room were still cast in shadow.

Draco put his own mage light out and started rummaging through his robe pockets.

"What are you looking for?" Harry asked.

"My camera."

Harry shot his friend an odd look. "Since when did you start carrying a camera around?"

Draco snorted, still checking his pockets. Harry returned his attention to the unseen ends of the room. His feeling of unease was not going away. If anything, it had only increased.

His instincts were never wrong. A movement caught his eye and he spun his head around, trying to pear through the darkness. It was like a shadow permeated the place, and even his Vampire enhanced eyesight couldn't penetrate it.

Another shift in the shadows, this time accompanied by a slight scuffle on the stone, and Harry began wracking his brain for anything that made their home in dingy stone spaces underground. His list was surprisingly short.

"I think we should head back, Draco." Harry said. The shifting of spaces amongst the shadows testified to numerous moving objects of at least some level of living status, however slight it may be. Harry figured that there were at least five or six, and anywhere up to a dozen or more.

He was not feeling very comfortable at the moment. "Draco?"

He didn't get a response from his companion beyond the shifting noise of cloth and Draco's mumbled French obscenities. Apparently he was having trouble finding his camera, not that Harry really cared at the moment.

"Draco?" Harry said, not taking his eyes from the approaching shadows. "Draco, I think it's time to go."

"Stop being such a pussy, Potter!" Draco snapped, "Where's your vaunted Gryffindor courage?"

"Uh, it's being ignored by my Slytherin instincts for survival." Draco looked up at him irritably. Harry simply motioned to a point behind his friend. Draco narrowed his eyes and spun his head around to look over his shoulder.

If Harry hadn't been distracted by the approaching mass of linen wrapped dead, for that's exactly what was coming upon them, he would have been able to enjoy the look upon Draco's face.

"Oh." Draco said.

"Yeah, Oh. Good word."

Draco turned around fully and the two began to inch backwards towards the tunnel opening.

"Mummies, huh?" Draco said.

"Yeah, Mummies."

"And what do you know about Mummies?"

"They're immune to most magics?" Harry offered.

"And here I thought you knew your Defense." Draco mumbled.

"I do," Harry defended himself, "It's just that Mummies are notoriously difficult to kill…er, or rather kill again…and I don't think we can take on over a dozen of them on our own."

"Grand." Draco said, but shot a few stunning spells off anyways. When the red light of the spells did nothing to halt, or even pause, the steady advance of the walking dead Draco took an extra step backwards, bringing him next to Harry.

"And there's nothing that you can do?" Draco asked. Harry took a quick glance at his companion, and saw the pale features in the dim light.

"No."

"Not even some Vampire power you haven't shared with the rest of us only to pull it out of you arse at a time like this?"

Harry snorted.

"Inconvenient." Draco said.

"I don't have the power of Blood Rites," Harry said, "I never accepted a place as an Heir. Even if I did I don't know if they (Harry gestured towards the Mummies) would listen to me, I'm not a born Necromancer or Vampire."

"And remind me again why you haven't claimed a position?"

"Because it requires me to kill all the Vampires who are contending for the same position, and I had no desire to slaughter a dozen Nosferatu Vampires…among other things."

"Ah, right." Draco said. "And what's wrong with that?"

Harry sent him in incredulous look. "They're of the Nosferatu, the Blood Lords! You go and try to kill them, they're not easily slain."

"Right. I'll help you."

"Sure, but uh…" Harry glanced around him and noticed that they had reached the tunnel entrance, "Later. Run first."

Harry grabbed his friend's arm and pulled him into the hall at a run. He could hear the Mummies behind him forcing their way past each other into the passage.

"So you don't automatically get the Blood Rites?" Draco asked as they ran the length of the tunnel.

"No. Just because I was 'turned' by a Nosferatu doesn't mean I receive all their gifts or abilities."

"Bugger that."

"Yeah, well, Blood Rites require blood sacrifice." Harry said, "I suppose I could have gotten myself out, but I'm not so sure about you…I may have had to sacrifice your blood to control them."

Draco looked over at him incredulously. "What!"

Harry glanced at him and shrugged as much as he could while running. "You asked."

"Remind me not to again." His friend muttered.

A whirring sound and a large clatter to his left made Harry skip over and run into Draco. The momentum made them crash headlong into the stone wall and crumple to the ground in a heap. He looked back to see a long wooden spear on the floor unsettlingly close to wear he had been.

"They have spears?!" Draco yelled. Harry grabbed his arm and hauled him up off the floor.

He ducked and felt the displacement of air above his head as a spear barely nicked his hair. The length of wood clattered against the stone and shattered.

"Yeah, be glad they're beginning to rot, now run!"

Draco needed little urging as they sprinted down the length of the tunnel.

"Mummies," Harry grumbled, "Just great."

"You can complain later, Potter. Why don't you do something about them in the meantime?"

"What do you want me to do?" Harry asked incredulously. "They're immune to magic!"

"So use something else! You're the one who's spent so much time around Muggles!"

"Yea, well I've yet to meet a Muggle who knows how to eradicate a centuries-old dead person!" Harry glanced over his shoulder at the mass of writhing, rotting flesh behind them. "They don't even have organs..."

"So chop of their heads!"

"I don't think that would work," Harry said, noticing one of the Mummies didn't have a head.

"C'mon, Potter!" Draco hissed, "Stop stalling and do something!"

Harry sent him a dark look and spun quickly on his heal to face the advancing Mummies. Draco stopped a few paces beyond him.

"I hope you don't plan on coming back for more sightseeing." Harry said as he pulled his wand.

"I thought you said that Mummies are immune to magic?"

"They are," Harry said, "But I don't plan on casting anything on them."

Harry pointed his wand at the floor ahead of the approaching mob, "Cavari!" The ground rumbled as a great chasm opened up and the floor caved in. A cloud of dust spread through the small space, and Harry covered his mouth with his hand to prevent breathing it all in. A moment passed before the dust cleared enough to see.

Apparently there were multiple levels to the tomb. The spell completely took out the flooring, which served as a ceiling to the level below; a level that housed even more Mummies.

"Good grief!" Harry said, "What is this place?"

"Nice going, Potter." Draco scoffed. "Now we've got more of them."

"Yea, well, you do something then."

"You're the Defense Master, not me."

Harry snorted and aimed his wand to the stones above the chasm. "Get ready to run, I'm not sure how good the foundation to this place is."

"Don't tell me you're actually going to collapse it!" Draco cried.

"Yup."

"Are you mad!?"

"Beggars can't be choosers, Malfoy." Harry said. "Now get ready to run."

"Right, I think I'll run now. Wait until I'm out of here, please."

Harry scowled as his 'friend' turned and sprinted down the hallway to the entrance. "Slytherins." He scoffed and turned back to the Mummies. They had begun climbing over each other in an effort to cross the gaping hole he had made in the floor. It wouldn't take them long.

"Reducto!" he said, with his wand trained on the stones above their heads. There was a whip like crack as the spell shot out of his wand. He didn't wait around to see if it connected. He didn't trust the tomb to be in any kind of condition not to collapse on his head.

Harry sprinted down the length of the passageway as the stones collapsed behind him in a chain reaction, sending dust and debris all over the place. Harry flung a shield up around him, hoping that it would stop the worst of the rocks that began falling down around him.

"Great idea, Potter." He mumbled to himself. "Collapse the roof above your own head, brilliant."

He barreled out of the passageway and nearly ran Draco over. He barely paused to make sure his companion was alright before grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the exit.

"Run, Draco!"

"You collapsed the entire place, didn't you?"

"Run now, say 'I told you so' later." Harry said as they dashed up the stairs to the exit. They barely made it out of the compound before the stairwell collapsed in on itself, sending a rain of debris up into the air. Harry tripped and crashed down into the sand, pulling Draco down with him.

"Klutz." Draco huffed from his semi-dignified position. How he managed to fall gracefully, Harry had no idea.

Harry grunted noncommittally from his own sprawl. They sat silently for a few minutes, both catching their breath.

"I told you so." Draco said.

Harry glared at him as he sat up and began shaking the dust out of his hair. "Thanks, Draco." He said sarcastically.

"Don't mention it."

"I'm sure I won't have to, you'll be more than willing to tell anyone and everyone of my exceptional skills in dealing with Mummies."

"Taking out centuries old tombs, maybe." Draco said and stood. "And yes, I'm going to tell _everyone_."

Harry growled with irritation and pulled himself up off the ground. "All you have to do is tell the _Prophet_ and you won't have to mention it again."

"Good idea, thanks, Potter."

Harry sneered and inspected his clothing, scowling as he noticed they were covered with dust and sand; and his boots were filled with sand, again. "Have I ever told you that I don't like sand?"

"Yes."

"Or tombs."

"Yes."

"Or you."

"Numerous times." Draco said without infliction.

"Good."

Harry looked around at the sandy landscape, which was beginning to lighten in the early hours of the morning. "It just had to be Egypt." He grumbled, as he plopped back to the ground to empty his shoes – again.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Author's Note:** Just to make sure this is clear: Humans/Wizards call them Vampires, Vampires call themselves Vespertilli, and Harry and Draco tend to use each term rather loosely. The Nosferatu are the Blood Lords, the elite or nobility of the Vampires. Harry was bitten by one of the greatest of them (a tid-bit for you, there). Also, as a bit of a hint for later: just because Harry can't perform Blood Rites (as he isn't a claimed Heir of his Sire, the one who bit him), doesn't mean he can't use Blood Magic.

_Solvo Vita_ from (Latin) "to accomplish, fulfill" and "life"

_Cavari!_ from (Latin-Cavo) "to hollow out, excavate, dig a hole in"


	8. Riddle Me This 01

**Author's Note:** This is a story that has developed more than most of my random Harry Potter fan-fic ideas. At the moment it consists of a series of short scenes that detail an alternate timeline sort of life. Involves time-travel and a bit of unpredictability.

**Disclaimer:** Hmm…come on! You know they aren't mine.

'_Telepathy, or mind-to-mind.'_

ss,parseltongue,ss

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Riddle Me This 01**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

The idea was that the spell would kill Voldemort. One life for sacrifice to ensure that it was done. Harry _volunteered_.

He had nothing to live for anyway. They should have known that it wouldn't work how they thought it would. Harry should have known his convoluted luck better than that. He should have known that his life wouldn't be enough. He didn't have a life to live for, what sort of sacrifice was left to him?

He was twenty seven when they put the spell into place. His whole life had been dominated by Voldemort's shadow. He doubted that anyone blamed him when he volunteered. He doubted anyone left cared enough to contradict him.

No one objected.

It was the thirteenth of June when they met face to face for the last time. The exact date that had started it all. The day that Trelawney had made her prophecy, twenty eight years prior, a mere month before he was born.

They always said thirteen was an unlucky number, magic's number. Harry had begun to claim that it was _his_ number. Non one had refuted him his claim in years. He really should have known better.

The spell _worked_ in the sense that it was supposed to get rid of Voldemort and Harry both. Beyond that it failed utterly.

Neither of them knew what went wrong. There was no one else to consult either, considering there were now in the past and the spell did not yet exist.

Harry was only happy with two things out of the whole deal: somehow, he was in his own, nearly thirty year old body and not his infant one. Secondly, Tom Riddle had no memories of his past.

Harry was also rather amused that Tom apparently had lost his own physical body and was forced to take up residence in the nearest form available: a raven.

Due to the magic of his existence the raven's form alered a bit, giving the bird an odd magical look and annoying telepathic abilities.

Harry told himself that the unexpected time travel was an opportunity for him to change what happened. He just couldn't get past the idea that he was now staring at the newly scared body of his infant self, green-eyed, messy haired and all. It was distinctly unsettling.

The raven Riddle laughed inside his head.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry's first course of action was Sirius. His godfather showed up only a few moments after Harry puzzled out where he was, that he wasn't dead, that Riddle was perched on his shoulder and pecking at his ear while he stared between the still form of his mother and the quiet, scarred body of an infant he knew to be himself.

Sirius barged through the doorway, still hanging on its hinges and stared at him for a full five minutes. Harry stared back. He hadn't seen his godfather in years, over a decade without the one man Harry knew as family. A decade spent dreaming the nightmare of his godfather's death, the death that Harry had unknowingly, inadvertently led him to.

It was the one guilt that had never faded. One loss that burned sharply every time he thought of it, stronger even than when he lost the Burrow and the family that had lived there.

Harry took advantage of the man's shock and grief. He stunned him.

Harry refused to let his godfather spend a moment within the hell of Azkaban. Peter would be dealt with. Harry limped across the room and picked up the infant, cradling the child carefully, awkwardly in his arms. The boy was asleep, though restless. Harry didn't blame him. He wrapped his arms around him, settling the infant in the crook of one elbow as he leaned down to the still form of his mother. Her bright, familiar green eyes stared up at him unseeing. He looked at her a moment, longer than a moment, and reached out to close her eyes gently. It was the first time he could ever remember touching her. He had no memories of her touch, only of her last dying scream, and the pleading that came before it. He treasured the touch he allowed himself trying to ignore the cold skin beneath his fingertips, looking at her face a moment more before he rose and went to his godfather.

Sirius was crumpled in a heap where he had fallen, his legs folded under him in a position Harry knew to be uncomfortable. He reached out his free hand and gripped his godfather's shoulder, glanced around the room once more and apparated.

The infant in his arms woke at the feeling of the side-along apparation, crying softly in his arm as Harry twirled into existence at his destination. Unsure how to comfort the child, Harry shifted him to his shoulder, shushing him and rubbing the child's back. Riddle was silent in his head, ruffling his feathers and shifting on his shoulder. Harry watched the child's head, the lock of wild hair so familiar to his own. The child slowly quieted, though was still clearly shaken. Harry was at a slight loss for what to do with him, he had never held a child in his arms before. He had never had the time.

Harry glanced around, taking in the dusty room and cloth-covered furniture. It was dark, though a wave of his hand brought flames to the candles and the fireplace, bringing light to the familiar room. Harry divested his godfather of his wand, pulling the length of wood from the man's sleeve, and placed it on the mantle in easy view and turned to regard the man he considered to be the last member of his family. Harry had never known his parents, and apparently, even in a second chance, would not. Their loss a second time did not hurt him, though he felt some sadness at the poor timing. He hadn't had the opportunity to prevent their deaths.

He pulled his wand from his pocket and cast an enervate at his godfather, watching as Sirius woke suddenly, blinking as he looked frantically around him.

"Sirius." Harry said, standing still a few paces away, favoring his right leg. Sirius looked to him sharply, staring at him and shifting his eyes to the quiet child in his arms.

"He isn't hurt." Harry offered, shifting the infant to turn the child to face Sirius.

"What do you want?" Sirius asked sharply, "Who are you?"

"I want to stop Voldemort." Harry said simply, not yet deigning to answer the second question.

"Where is my wand?"

Harry nodded to the mantle, Sirius stood, seeing his wand, and looking between it and Harry suspiciously.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sirius." Harry said, knowing the look on the man's face.

"Where are we?" Sirius demanded.

Harry glanced around, taking in the familiar room, the dust and sheets over the few pieces of furniture. "Apartment thirteen at five-twenty-three Diagon Alley." Harry said. "A Potter property."

Sirius looked around, a little surprised. "This is the Potter's apartment?"

"I believe it belonged to Charlus before he died."

Sirius looked back at him, "James's uncle." Sirius narrowed his eyes at him, "What do you want?"

"I won't hurt you or this child, Sirius." Harry repeated. "But I cannot let you leave to go after Wormtail. Not now."

Sirius' face changed drastically. It went from caution to rage in a matter of seconds. Harry watched him curiously, taking in the full cheeks and lively eyes. He had never seen the man so whole. Azkaban had broken more of Sirius Black than Harry had known. The man Harry had called godfather, had known for the agonizingly short few years was merely a shell of what the man before him was. Harry's resolve to make sure Sirius never went to Azkaban doubled.

"The traitor." Sirius snarled. That was something that Harry had seen in him before, the sharp rage that had never dulled even after thirteen years in Azkaban.

"I know." Harry said. "But he will frame you and escape. He will be dealt with."

Sirius stared at him, the rage still evident but curiosity and caution crept into his eyes as he stared at him.

"Who are you?" he demanded, taking step towards the fireplace. Harry watched him, and made no move to stop his godfather from getting closer to his wand.

"It's complicated." Harry said.

Sirius continued to stare at him, his eyes flickering every so often to the child in his arms. Harry could see that the infant was awake, one of his thumbs stuck in his mouth as the child's head bobbed a bit. Harry was careful to keep the child cradled against his chest, somewhat afraid that the kid's head would suddenly bob forward to the side and hurt himself. Riddle was silent as the raven watched them, though Harry was sure he felt something akin to amusement, or curiosity from the bird.

"What do you want with Harry?" Sirius asked.

Harry glanced down at the child, reminded sharply that he was holding the infant form of himself in his arms. It was distinctly unsettling.

"To help him, I suppose." Harry said, unsure really what he did want. He knew only that he could not let the child get placed with the Dursley's. He would not let that part of history repeat itself. He didn't care what Dumbledore said about blood protections. He would not allow it.

"I will give him to you, Sirius." Harry said, suddenly looking up at his godfather. "With one condition."

Sirius narrowed his eyes at him dangerously, taking a step towards him with a clenched fist. Harry was aware that his godfather was not pleased with the situation, but he didn't know how else to handle it.

"Let me go after Wormtail." Harry said, meeting his godfather's eyes.

"What?"

"Let me deal with Wormtail's treachery." Harry said, "This child needs you now."

Sirius looked between the two, clearly weighing the merit of the deal.

"Why?"

Harry didn't really have an answer. Not an easy one.

"How can I know you won't aid him?" Sirius demanded, "How do you know he was the secret keeper?"

Harry didn't respond, knowing that his answer would only beget more questions and confusion. He did not know how to start in his explanation to Sirius. He didn't have a lot of time if he wanted to hunt down Wormtail before the rat disappeared.

"Who are you?" Sirius demanded taking another step closer to his wand and to Harry.

Harry didn't answer, unsure if he should, or could. He was sure that his features were familiar to Sirius, Harry was fully aware of his resemblance to his father, even with the scars and the coldness of the lines of war. He knew that his eyes were that of his mother's. Few people who knew his parent's faces did not see that Harry was theirs.

"I am…" Harry paused, staring at his godfather, steadily ignoring the urge to look at the child in his arms, and forced the words out of his mouth, "I am Harry Potter."

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry slunk through the shadows of the buildings, his eyes locked onto the scurrying form of the rat as it made its way down the alley. Harry knew that Wormtail was aware of him. The rat's course had made some drastic changes as Harry chased him through London's streets.

Sirius had been stunned to silence at Harry's declaration. Harry had simply handed the man the infant, erected a serious of additional wards around the apartment and left with a simple word that he would get Wormtail. Sirius hadn't spoken a word as the man watched him leave, his eyes wide and clearly stunned. Harry had never seen his godfather so speechless before.

Harry had apparated back to Godric's Hollow, skirting the milling forms of the Order and Ministry as he searched for Wormtail's apparation trail. He found it on the edge of the Potter's property, and followed the slowly fainting trail to the dimly lit streets of London. It was easy work to follow the rat. Wormtail's animagus form may have been small, but his skills in subtly were somewhat lacking in comparison to Harry's own skills in the hunt, especially when Wormtail was panicked.

Harry let the rat run, taking some twisted pleasure in Wormtail's growing panic and fear. He could see that Wormtail was growing desperate in his actions, with the sky beginning to grey, and Londoners entering the streets in the early morning. Harry knew what Wormtail would attempt to do, and let the rat lead him towards the main street, pulling a knife from his robes and sprinting after him. He cut off the rat's course, forcing Wormtail to return to the narrow alley.

The rat transformed suddenly, his wand clutched tightly in his hand as the two wizards faced each other.

"Who-o are you?" Peter asked, his beady eyes jumping around the dark alley.

Harry didn't respond, simply advanced on the man, feeling his mouth curl into a snarl. He had no interest in conversation. He didn't need to ask Wormtail 'why', he didn't care to give the traitor a chance to try to explain. Of all the men and women he had faced and dueled, only Wormtail and his treachery made Harry actually want to take a life. With the face of his mother, newly dead, still fresh in his mind, Harry didn't bother to stop his own bloodlust.

With a lunge that defied normal human speed, Harry launched himself at Wormtail, his knife glinting slightly in the rising dawn. Peter squeaked at the movement, his wand moving in a jerky, swift pattern. Harry didn't recognize the movements, and didn't care. His knife sliced across Peter's wand arm, causing the rotund young man to drop his wand with a startled yelp. Harry didn't pause, turning the knife to cut deeply into the man's lower abdomen, and pulled his knee up into Peter's nose as he doubled from the pain.

Peter crumpled harshly onto his back, moaning in a high-pitched tone. Harry picked up the wand, fingering the light wood carefully, feeling the wand's innate reaction against him.

"You are easily disarmed, Wormtail." Harry said softly, watching the man. The wand's magics seemed to bend and writhe, settling finally. Harry felt the subtle pulls of the wand, feeling it submit to its new mastership. The wand was more powerful than he had anticipated. There was more to Peter Pettigrew than Harry had been told of.

But Harry had disarmed him, and the rat's wand was now his. He cast a silencing spell on the man, quite tired of his moans, and bound him with rope. Harry glanced around the alley, noticing the rising light of the morning and the early crowds of Londoners in the street nearby. They had not yet been noticed. Harry knelt and gripped Wormtail's shoulder and apparated them away.

Harry let Sirius take care of bringing Wormtail to Dumbledore and the Ministry. As Supreme Mugwump, it was not difficult for Dumbledore to ensure that Wormtail was doused with Veriteserum and questioned carefully. Sirius made no mention of Harry's capture of the rat, and left the Ministry a free man, and the rightful guardian to the only known survivor of the Killing Curse.

Harry simply watched the infant form of himself sleep while Sirius was away, ignoring the raven's telepathic comments in his head. They would have much to discuss when his godfather returned. Sirius seemed to trust him and believe his story, but Harry knew that it would take time for Sirius to truly trust him. And to gain that time, Harry would have to develop an identity for himself. As of now, he didn't legally exist.

A chill suddenly swept over him, and Harry stiffened in response, recognizing the feeling yet doubting it. It could not have been possible.

"What have you done?" A voice asked, silver-tongued and familiar, but rasped with a sound that had not always been there. Harry turned his head, looking over his shoulder at the room, knowing that the impossible had managed to defy the odds and occur anyways.

A ghost floated behind him, it's transparent form about the same size as his own, though taller and lankier. It was dressed in full robes, slightly tattered around the edges, with a deep hood framing a masked face. The mask was a skull mask, cracked and broken, with half of its form fallen away, revealing a deep gouge across the ghost's cheek. Strands of thick, wavy hair curled around the mask and the ghost's neck, nearly hiding the trails of silvery blood that trailed down the ghost's skin.

"You're still anchored to me, then." Harry said, watching the ghost float around him, to peer at the child curled on the bed.

"You're stubborn."

Harry snorted. "It was your choice to remain here as a ghost and not pass on." He said, "Don't call me the stubborn one."

"Is that who I think it is?" the ghost asked, pointing at the sleeping infant. The child's eyes were closed, but the tell-tale scar was prominent on his forehead, still red and irritated from its newness.

Harry nodded.

"And the bird?"

Harry glanced at the raven perched on his shoulder, silent in the presence of the ghost. "Riddle."

The ghost's eyes widened behind its mask, staring at the bird in disbelief. "No way."

"And no, I don't know how."

"Didn't figure you would." The ghost said, "You never do."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "He bears no memory of his past, and we seem to be bonded."

The ghost tilted its head slightly at him, inspecting the bird. "A Familiar bond?"

"Perhaps." Harry said, unsure himself exactly how Riddle was bonded to him.

The ghost floated around him again, peering at the raven closely. Riddle ruffled his feathers at the inspection, turning his head to follow the ghost's progress. Harry let the two eye each other. He felt no threat from either of them. Both the ghost and especially the bird were bound to him with strong, intricate magics. Despite his own natural indifference to the bonds, he was quite relieved that Riddle was tied to him, and Harry bore the former Dark Lord's memories in a corner of his own mind. The raven Riddle would not return to this timeline's Voldemort. The bond of the bird to him would prevent even the attempt if not the thought entirely.

"Interesting." The ghost announced, floating backwards from him a bit. "Unique, I suspect, but that's expected from you."

Harry sent the ghost a look, not bothering to comment.

"How was the trip for you?" Harry asked, returning his gaze to the sleeping child.

"Disorienting." The ghost said dryly, "It took me some time to figure out what had happened. I had no idea that you would manage to find a way to screw your life up even more. Sending yourself into the past, some alternate timeline, is impressive even for you."

Harry scowled, glaring at the ghost. "I didn't plan it."

The ghost shrugged. "Do you plan anything?"

Harry sighed, and turned suddenly, hearing the door of the flat open. He exited the bedroom into the hall, and saw Sirius cross the living room. His godfather spotted him and stopped, still cautious.

"He's sleeping." Harry said, knowing what was now forefront on his godfather's mind. Harry gestured to the bedroom and moved out of the way as Sirius came down the hall and entered the room. Sirius crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, watching the child sleep.

Harry felt the chill of the ghost's presence close to him, brushing through his shoulder.

"You do work fast, don't you?" the ghost said. "I suppose you've already got Wormtail, then?"

Harry nodded as Sirius looked up at the words, his eyes widening at the ghost's appearance floating over Harry's shoulder. Harry knew what the ghost's appearance looked like. With the hooded cloak and dark robes, the skeleton mask hiding the features. The ghost was dressed in full Death Eater garb, right down to the common aristocratic style of the robe's cut.

Sirius stared.

"He is anchored to me." Harry said, glancing at the ghost hovering near his shoulder.

"Who is he?" Sirius asked, seemingly a bit more curious than defensive, though still clearly wary. Harry didn't blame him in the least.

"He likes to call himself, Skullcap." Harry said with a slight grimace.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "You're good at avoiding the issue."

Harry sighed, not bothering to contradict his godfather's statement.

"Yes, I suppose I am." He said. "I have learned to hide well."

"Took you long enough, really." The ghost mumbled. Harry ignored the ghost as well as Riddle's chuckling in his head.

"He," Harry started, looking away from his godfather, "He gave his life in order to save mine."

"Sometimes I wonder if I regret that decision." The ghost said sarcastically. Harry shot the ghost an annoyed look.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry sat half reclined in the chair on the balcony, his body motionless in remarkable patience as he watched the light crowds in the alley below him. His wand twirled idly between the fingers of his left hand, barely missing the pointed beak of the raven perched on the top of the cane spelled upright next to his chair.

_'Ants.'_ Riddle commented in his head. Harry ignored the bird, well aware what the raven thought of the crowds of wizards. Harry nearly agreed. From four stories up, they nearly did look like ants.

Harry watched them all pass below him, some young, others old, all far happier and more carefree than he felt they should be. They didn't know that Voldemort was still out there. They didn't know that the Dark Lord would return as he could and reap the fear from the crowds of wizards that wandered the street below him. They didn't know that there wasn't a bloody thing that could be done to stop him, or that they shouldn't because the Dark Lord couldn't be killed unless inhabiting a physical form.

Harry couldn't decide whether to pity the masses or give up on the lot of them. Too many times had he been their scapegoat, the target for their mercurial moods. He did not like the crowds. He preferred the individual.

"Alright," A voice said from the door behind him. Harry didn't move, he had heard his godfather's footsteps through the flat. "It's finally official."

Sirius leaned against the railing in front of him, waving a roll of parchment in his hand. Sirius unrolled it, cleared his throat, and began dramatically, "You are a fully registered member of the British Magical Kingdom, a muggle-born man named Liam Duran Croyus-Black, originally from Russia and migrated to England in order to be close to his dear distant cousin, Sirius, and help with the raising of said wonderful cousin with his young charge – the savior of the wizarding world."

Harry's newly changed, dull, golden-green eyes slid over to his godfather's grey ones. The color-change process had not been without consequences, Harry had spent a week unable to see much of anything, and his eyes were still recovering, forcing him to find a pair of glasses in order to see clearly. He hadn't worn glasses in years. He hoped that the potion to change his eye color would not make his eyesight revert to its old nearsightedness. He rather enjoyed not having to use glasses in order to see, but his eyes were slowly returning to the clear vision that he had grown accustomed to. He would be able to leave the glasses behind soon enough.

"That wasn't the name we agreed on." Harry said, seeing Sirius's amusement etched across his face.

Sirius just shrugged, handing the roll of parchment out to him with a small smirk. "I liked this one better."

Harry didn't say anything as he accepted the parchment, unrolling it to see the official citizenship document laid out in neat script. It held the basic information that was required for all British Magical citizens, from his new name and age – now twenty-eight – down to his physical height and eye color. The information was what he was already using if anyone bothered to ask who he was, which was remarkably few people in one year. The story was what they had been using as a cover as well, and the name Duran Croyus was known to the few people he made contact with, which wasn't many.

"You named me a member of the Black family?" Harry asked, spotting the Nobelesse mark in the top corner of the document. Harry had seen the seal before, but he had never seen it applied to his name or status. It was, however, on the top of every official document that was related to Sirius, which Harry had sorted through after his godfather's death.

"Sure." Sirius said, grinning from ear to ear. "Harry, too."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the man, wondering momentarily, about his sanity, and ignoring Riddle's coarse comments in his head about the nobility of the magical world. Harry largely agreed with the bird, but wasn't fond of letting the avian know it. Ever.

"Liam?" Harry asked, slightly afraid of what the man was thinking.

"I think it's Scottish." Sirius said. Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "You needed a name that at least sounded like it was connected to an old pureblood family. Duran didn't quiet cut it all the way. Sounded too muggle. Not at all English."

"Duran is perfectly acceptable name." Harry said. "I've used it in Britain before without any trouble. Why Liam?"

"It was either that or Corvus." Sirius said with a smirk, motioning to the raven sitting on the arm of his chair, "That bird never leaves your side."

"Thank Merlin you didn't." Harry said, thinking that being called Corvus Croyus would be a typical wizarding name in his experiences, but he'd likely seriously hex anyone who actually tried to call him that.

Harry let the debate about his new name go and looked back to the document again, memorizing the information it contained. He would have to remember that he was no longer 'Harry', though he had already begun to use the name Croyus, he still thought of himself as Harry Potter a great deal of the time. It would take some getting used to, but it wasn't the first time that he had dropped his name to use another. Once it was known that he had some skill with reconnaissance and under-cover work, Harry was placed in such positions more than once during the years of the war. Croyus was a name he had used often, and he associated it with himself to some extent, already.

"Good thing you're so handy with that accent." Sirius said, "Nobody asks anything much after they hear you talk."

Harry grunted, still looking over the document. He had spent three years in Russia for training in his early twenties, learned the language and had returned to England with an accent that he hadn't realized he'd acquired. He could switch between a Russian accented English and his old British with little thought anymore, though by the time the war was drawing to its desperate end, Harry was almost wholly back to his usual British accented slang. When he and Sirius built his cover story, the Russian accent got pulled back out of his repertoire, though after a year Harry had let it tone down into something of a cross between the two. He didn't stand out so much when his accent was slightly more English, and he didn't like to stand out.

"And that your scar has faded." Sirius said more quietly. Harry paused in his reading of the document and ran his fingers across his smooth forehead. His scar had faded, faded nearly to nothing. If one looked closely, a faint outline of the scar could be seen. It was strange to look into the mirror and not see the scar that once stood out so much. He wasn't sure what its disappearance meant.

"Now that you have British Magical Citizenship, what are you going to do?" Sirius asked dramatically. Harry glanced up at him.

"I can take the tests and get my Defense Mastery back." Harry said, "It allows me a certain bit of leeway in dangerous situations that I otherwise would not have without the Mastery documentation."

"A Defense Mastery is really hard to get." Sirius said.

Harry nodded. "I got it the first time in Russia when I was twenty-one."

"Twenty-one! That's…"

"Unheard of." Harry said with a small smirk, "I was the youngest with such a Mastership in centuries. I was more proud of that little accomplishment than the 'Youngest Seeker in a Century' title I received my first year in Hogwarts. "

Sirius blinked at him, lost somewhere between proud and stunned. Harry was just impressed that he managed to silence the man. He really didn't need to take the tests for his Mastery in Britain, he already held the papers from both Russia and Britain. He had the certification papers from the first timeline still in his pocket, complete with the Russian Magical Minstry seals, his gradings and concentrations. He had taken to always having a copy with him, though by the last few years it was largely a moot point. He was pretty sure that he could jury-rig the papers to reflect a more believable date, rather than posting a year that was nearly two decades in the future. Harry just wanted the Ministry to have documentation of his Mastery in their records, which required him to take the British tests.

"Where's the ghost?" Sirius asked, looking back into the flat.

Harry – Croyus – shrugged, "He's anchored to me, but he can generally go where he pleases."

Sirius hummed at that, still looking back into the flat.

"I think he said something about a death-day party. I'm not sure."

"I still can't believe that he's my brother." Sirius said. Harry looked up at his godfather, remembering the first couple weeks that they had spent in the flat. Sirius had been in disbelief with Harry's story about the future and his inadvertent time travel, and stunned when Skullcap finally revealed his identity as Regulus Black. Neither Harry nor Regulus gave much detail about the younger Black's death and the circumstances that drove Regulus to remain near Harry as a ghost. Neither of them really wanted to relate the tale to Sirius, or anyone for that matter.

"So, Croy, ready to go out into the world as an official citizen?" Sirius asked, still grinning.

"No." Harry said, glancing at his godfather for the nickname. He was used to the short form. During his stints under his alias his friends had often called him Croy. If he recalled correctly, it was Tonks who had done so the first time.

"C'mon! Harry wants to go to the zoo." Sirius said, "We can go into London, it'll be fun."

"He's one." Croy eyed his godfather for a few moments, irked that the man was using the child against him again.

"C'mon, Croy!" Sirius said, breaking into his thoughts, "The zoo's waiting!"

Croy sighed and rose from his chair, pocketing his wand and grabbing for the cane. Riddle jumped into the air, perching himself on his shoulder. Cane in hand, Croy followed with his off-kilter gate as his grinning godfather went back into the flat.

_'The zoo?.'_ Riddle said into his mind, _'Spectacular.'_

Croy ignored the sarcasm. Riddle may not have any memories of his past life as a Dark Lord, but the raven was certainly full of dark sarcastic barbs that rivaled most dark wizards. It often put him in mind of a strange mix of Ron and Snape.

Croy actually found the bird's continuous presence somewhat comforting. It reminded him of the first time, his other life. A life that was fading in his mind as the months went by. The memories were fading, becoming blurry at the edges. He was forgetting. It was getting harder to recall the things that had happened. Already Croy could not recall the simple days of his first life. Memories with more emotion were still clear and sharp, which were more than plenty, but he still saw the first timeline to be a growing distant nightmare. He feared, and hoped, that the memories would continue to fade. There were things he did not want to remember. Things he wished desperately that he could forget and never recall again.

After a full year Croy had to now consciously think back to his other life, pulling the memories out from a depth of shadow and mist that grew more difficult to traverse with each passing month. Croy only hoped that his skills would not fade with the memories. He would need his skills when Voldemort resurrected himself. He would need them for the war he knew would come, despite what he did to prevent it.

Croy waited near the door, watching his young counterpart interact with Sirius. Both were so happy – smiling – their eyes alight with laughter and a joy that Croy could not remember seeing in either pair of eyes.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**A/N:** If I was actually going to bother writing this out fully, I'd add a couple scenes here…

( enter Croy's master tests )

( more interaction w/ the ghost )

…but since I'm not… you'll just have to imagine those scenes on your own. Heh.

oooOoooOoooOooo


	9. Riddle Me This 02

**Author's Note:** Another installment of the Riddle Me This AU world. This one is growing on me a bit, but already if I actually bothered to write it out properly, it would be different. Ah well.

**Disclaimer:** Hmm…come on! You know they aren't mine.

'_telepathy or mind-to-mind.'_

ss,parseltongue,ss

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Riddle Me This 02**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

Croy pulled his winter cloak from the hook near the door and wrapped it around his shoulders. Harry watched him from his seat on the floor of the living room, his green eyes avid and watchful. Croy could barely comprehend the differences he saw between the young Harry Potter and the childhood he had lived in the first time. The differences were remarkable. Even after four years he had a hard time reckoning the energetic young boy named Harry Potter with what he – Croy – was as a child. They were very little alike, and yet so fundamentally the same.

"I wish it weren't snowing." Harry said, looking out the tall sliding windows to the balcony.

"Winter will be over in a few months." Croy said, "Or at least the snow will have melted."

"Then will you teach me to ride my new bike?" Harry asked.

Croy looked up from the clasp of his robe. Harry, now four, stared up at him with pleading eyes. Croy had gotten him a bicycle for the Yule holiday, and they had yet to be able to try the new toy out. With London's thick winter rains and now the snows, they had no chance to spend much time outside on a bicycle.

"As soon as the weather turns." Croy said, smiling at him. "If it's not too cold tonight, we'll go down to the park for a snowball fight, if you like."

Harry grinned. "With Sirius?"

"If we must drag him out of the Ministry by the scruff of his neck." Croy said, smirking at the boy. Harry's grin got wider and he glanced down the hallway to where Sirius was still sleeping. With a glance at him, Harry jumped to his feet and charged down the hall. Croy only spared a moment for his godfather's impending awakening before grinning at the thought and leaving the flat.

Croy wrapped his thick cloak tighter around his shoulders and apparated from Diagon Alley's apparation point, rather than from his flat, as was his practice when meeting with clients. It wasn't that he didn't trust them, but his paranoia was about as strong as it ever was, despite the dulling of the memories that had caused it.

Appearing on a snow covered, paved walk outside of a large manor home, Croy glanced around in curiosity. He had seen few wizarding homes in his years, and the few he had seen were more than often properties of dark families. Croy had long ago realized that dark and light family homes tended to be quite a bit different from each other.

The three story manor in front of him was sided with a dark stone, making the line of eight columns stretching across the front patio stand out from the house. Croy liked the style of the place. It was large, but it wasn't garish or overdone, like so many old wizarding families tended to make their homes.

An older man met him at the door, his grey hair pulled into a knot at the nape of his neck, and dressed in slim robes.

"Lord Nolan?" Croy asked as he approached. The man nodded and Croy offered his hand in greeting, "I'm Liam Croyus."

"Good morning, Mr. Croyus." Lord Nolan said, "Thank you for coming."

Lord Nolan led him into the house, and Croy didn't bother to mask his interest in the décor. It was warmly, if elaborately furnished with a color scheme that put Croy in mind of the Ravenclaw house at Hogwarts. The deep blues and golden wood tones of the house was comforting while also being aristocratic.

"Would you care for tea, Mr. Croyus?" Lord Nolan asked him.

"No, thank you."

"Right down to business, is it?" the man asked, looking at him in a mix of curiosity and amusement. "Very well, I've stored the items in a chamber this way."

"How many items do you have?" Croy asked as they traversed the halls.

"Somewhere upwards of a dozen, I should think. I've honestly lost track of the exact number. I have been collecting some of them for a while and I haven't had the opportunity to hire someone to deal with them."

"Have there been any adverse effects with placing them all in the same room?"

"None that I have noticed." Lord Nolan said, pausing at a door, and opening it for him. Croy glanced inside the room, noting the shelves and tables that held about twenty various objects from jewelry, household items, and Croy was quite sure that the strange thing on the shelf in the corner was an old powdered wig.

"They have come from random sources." Lord Nolan continued, "And I haven't the time or inclination to bother trying to remove the enchantments on them. Some are labeled with the effects that they cause, if known. I would appreciate all of them being disenchanted without destroying them, but please do not feel terribly rushed."

Croy nodded, taking a quick inventory of the room. "Until I know what I'm dealing with I will not be able to give you a timeline, but I am willing to at least look at all of them and let you know if I can remove the magics, or if you'll have to find a Master."

"Perfect." Lord Nolan said. "You are keyed to the wards, and are free to come as you like to work here. The front door and this hall will allow you entry. There is a sitting room next door and I'll have a house elf see to anything that you may need."

"Thank you, sir." Croy said, turning back to the man. He liked him. Lord Nolan was direct and polite, and though he carried himself with the pride of the nobility Croy didn't get the feeling that he was being looked down upon.

"I will leave you here then." Lord Nolan said, "If you have any questions, please call my house elf, his name is Tully."

Croy nodded as he turned his attention back to the room full of cursed and enchanted artifacts. He heard the older man's footsteps retreat down the hallway without another word. Croy entered and let the door swing closed behind him, pulling his winter robes off and draping them over a chair. He had a lot of work to be done. There were more pieces scattered about the room than he had expected. While Lord Nolan did not ask him to disenchant all of them, nor did he give a deadline, Croy had his own pride and standards. He had been hired to disenchant the items that Lord Nolan had collected, and he intended to do so as he could.

Croy glanced over the room, and decided to start at one end and just work his way around. Lord Nolan had provided labels and documentation for the items, listing the information that he knew of each. It was particularly helpful. Croy did not always work with such meticulous documentation. He rather found it a much safer circumstance to be facing cursed items under.

He settled into work, and by noon had made his way through five of the pieces that the room held, disenchanting four and finding the fifth with its limited information and violent aura too difficult for him to handle. He left a note on the label of the bracelet for Lord Nolan to seek a Master in regards to the piece. Croy had no desire to stake his life over a chunk of twisted metal.

He was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Turning, Croy found a brown haired woman standing in the doorway, watching him with curiosity. Croy stood upright from his inspection of a delicate looking chain and locket. He was quite sure that the piece had once belonged to a woman, the curves of the knotwork on the locket was certainly feminine.

"My father said that he had hired a Disenchanter." The woman said in a clear voice.

"I merely have some skills in the field." Croy said, "I am not a Master."

"He must have found your skills impressive, then."

Croy watched the woman as she entered the room, her green robes swirling around her legs. They were cut in a woman's fashion with lacing and embroidery up the chest, which Croy had always found to look a bit like old English muggle clothing, and a bit less like the common wizard's robes that Croy usually wore that remained loose and open. The woman circled the room once and came to a stop near him, glancing at the necklace on the table under his hand, before meeting his eyes with her gold ones.

"I am Liam Croyus." He said, holding his hand out to her with his palm turned upwards. She turned her head a little, smiling at him.

"Emmeline Jalina Nolan." The woman said, placing her hand in his. "Eldest of Lord Nolan."

Croy made a small bow over her hand, brushing his lips close to her knuckles. "A pleasure, Lady Nolan."

"Please don't." she said, "My mother is the Lady, just call me Emmeline."

"Only if you call me Liam."

She smiled at him, pulling a stool from under the table he had been standing at. "I think that may be a deal, Liam."

Croy nodded at her and turned back to the small locket on the table. It was layered with charms and enchantments, most of which were completely harmless, save the strong compulsion charm layered into the small gold chains. Croy could pull all the magics out of the locket with little trouble, but the charms were not harming it, and indeed, in the case of most, was likely good for it. He didn't want to pull the charms from the locket that strengthened the metals, or prevented tarnish or such as that. The trick was being able to pull the compulsion charm from the chain links without tearing the rest of the charms with it.

"May I watch?" Emmeline asked. Croy glanced up at her and then back to the locket with a nod. He waved his wand in a careful pattern, muttering the incantation under his breath as he concentrated on pulling the curse from the chains without breaking the other charms. Dark red sparks arched up from the chains, just missing his nose, though one tried to singe a lock of hair that had fallen out of its tie. Croy leaned back, avoiding the sparks and tucking his hair back into the tie at the nape of his neck. It wasn't quite long enough to remain there on its own.

"The result is rather pretty." Emmeline said.

Croy watched the progress of the locket until he was sure that the curse had been fully removed and the charms remained. The locket lay on the table, charmed and no longer cursed and Croy leaned back with satisfaction.

"It is, I suppose." He agreed finally, looking up to the woman. "And now harmless."

"So simple?"

Croy rolled one shoulder, even though Riddle had remained at the flat. "Not always. With this one it was only a matter of pulling the curse out without removing the charms that are a part of its creation."

"What was the curse?"

Croy glanced at her, finding her curiosity endearing, despite the feeling that she was simply asking questions for the sake of conversation, rather than that she didn't know the answers.

"A compulsion charm." He said, picking up the locket, and holding it out to her.

"No doubt given to someone's unrequited love?" she asked with a small smirk.

"That is the tale." He said, smiling. He found he liked talking to her. Her sense of humor was a bit subtle, and he saw intelligence and depth in her gold eyes.

She smiled back at him and took the locket, letting its chain tangle around her fingers before looping it over her head. The locket settled over her breast, just below her collarbone.

"I think I might keep it." She said, glancing up at him with a smile. Croy returned the smile, eyeing the small, knot-worked locket around her neck

"It suits you." His smile widened as her gold eyes seemed to sparkle.

oooOoooOoooOooo

When Harry was five Croy and Sirius contacted the Weasleys. According to Sirius, a child's education should begin at that age. Croy could vaguely recall his days in the muggle primary school near the same age, but he had no idea how the wizarding world handled the early education of their children. Croy figured that Mrs. Weasley would be able to tell him, if anyone could.

Croy made sure to inform Regulus of their destination, and that the ghost was not advised to suddenly appear at his side as was his occasional habit. Skullcap had smirked beneath his half-mask before drifting through the walls of the flat and disappearing. Harry had ignored Sirius' amused comments about the ghost, while considering the possibilities of exorcising the ex-Death Eater ghost, and not for the first time.

The three flooed to the Weasley's on a summer Saturday, when all of the family was home. Croy stumbled out of the fireplace with almost no decorum, his mangled leg causing his floo entrances to be more ridiculous than when he first started using the method of travel. Sirius followed him with Harry clutched to his side. Croy scowled at them from his kneeling position on the floor, trying to rub the soot out of his trimmed beard and shake it off his hair and robe. He had barely prevented himself from sprawling over the carpet.

Sirius barked out a laugh at him, leading Harry almost gracefully into the Weasley's living room with a strong arm around the boy's shoulder. Croy rose to his feet, using his cane to support his weight and lever himself up, pulling his wand out to clean off the stray soot clinging to his clothing.

"Missers Black, and Mr. Potter." Mr. Weasley greeted jovially.

"Hello, Arthur," Sirius said, taking the man's hand. "And Croy here goes by Liam Croyus, otherwise it'd be far too confusing with two Mr. Blacks running around. And you know to call me Sirius!"

Arthur chuckled, and offered his hand to Croy. Croy shook it, "Just Croy, please Mr. Weasley."

Arthur nodded and turned to Harry. "And this is young Mr. Potter." Harry nodded at the man with a small smile. Croy could tell that Harry liked him. Arthur was easy to like, easy to trust. Croy liked that about the man.

"Come in and sit down before Molly has my head for my manners." Arthur ushered them into the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was waiting for them, laying out lunch for them all. Charlie and Percy were there helping her, or rather Molly was directing them to do things and they were generally attempting to follow her orders without getting under her feet. Croy marveled for a moment at their ages, almost mistaking Charlie for one of the twins. Charlie Weasley was only twelve, the same age that the twins were when he met them at Hogwarts.

"Welcome gentlemen," Molly said, ushering them into the kitchen towards the table, "Sit, sit. I've got tea made up and lunch will be ready in just a bit." The three settled onto the benches, Harry sitting close beside Croy while Sirius sprawled his lanky form across from them. "Sirius, dear, how are you?"

"Good, Molly, how are the rug-rats?" Sirius said, reaching a hand out and ruffling Charlie's hair as he passed. Charlie let out an indignant sound, swatting the man's hand away from his head and trying to lay his hair back flat again.

"Oh, home for the summer." Molly said, setting the table around them. "Charlie, go call everyone in, would you, lunch is ready."

The family trooped in and everyone was introduced. Croy could hardly believe how young they were. He barely recognized Ginny, a mere four years old and in pigtails, clutching at her oldest brother as she smiled shyly at them, staring at Harry with wide eyes. The twins already held the devious look of the prankster in their eyes, and they each shook his hand twice, introducing themselves as each other both times.

Lunch was a somewhat loud affair. With all the children in their first week of summer holiday they were excited and full of energy. Harry opened up quickly after Molly brought her pies out to the table, and Croy watched with some fascination as Harry and Ron made fast friends. The twins, too, seemed to get along with the young Boy-Who-Lived rather well, and Croy had a moment to worry about Hogwarts when the four got to the school.

Bill, whom Croy was a bit startled to see at the young age of fourteen, learned of his Curse-breaking hobby, and Croy found himself to be the center of attention of an extremely curious boy. Croy was only too happy to answer his questions. He could already see the burning interest of the subject in the lad's eyes.

Molly shooed the children back out to the yard, and Harry followed them out, leaving the adults to discuss the group tutoring for the pre-Hogwarts kids. The Weasleys teamed up with some of the other families in the Ottery St. Catchpole area for primary education, and Croy figured that the Diggory's and Lovegoods would likely be involved as well. Molly affirmed that when she mentioned 'little Cedric, who is eight now, the dear'.

Harry would begin to floo over to the Weasley's a few times a week starting in June to join the other children for the start of his education. Both Sirius and Croy would supplement what he learned at the Burrow with other things, largely defensive in nature, as they were both aware of the challenges that he would face as the Boy-Who-Lived.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Croy called down the hallway from the living room, wondering what was keeping Harry. They would be late.

"He's in his room." Regulus said, floating near the ceiling of the living room. Croy glanced at the ghost. Regulus had his mask pushed back atop his head and the hood thrown back. It made him look less like a Death Eater, but revealed some of the nature of his wounds marring his face and head and neck, all streaming silver blood down into his robes.

Croy made his way down the hall, letting his cane carry his weight on his right side and paused at Harry's door. The boy had his head stuck in the wardrobe, and a growing pile of robes and shoes around him.

Croy watched him a moment. Harry was taller than Croyus was at the same age. Croy knew, that at age seven, he could barely see over the kitchen counter and had to use a chair in order to reach the stove properly. The young Harry was already tall enough to see the top of the counter without the aide of a stool. Croy knew that his younger counterpart was going to bypass him in height and weight by the time he reached adulthood, likely before. If James Potter was much to go by, Croy was considerably stunted in his growth and size. He blamed the Dursleys.

At least it would not be suspicious if the two looked so close alike. Harry and Croy would be, in the end, built a bit differently from each other. Croy was slight and a bit on the shorter side of average, while Harry looked to be preparing for eventual height, if his growth spurts already had anything to say of it.

"Miss-place something?" Croy asked from the doorway as he watched the seven-year-old root through the bottom of his wardrobe.

"My right foot trainer." Harry said, his voice slightly muffled. "The blue ones."

"Stand back, then." Croy said, pulling his wand from his pocket. Harry stood up, looking at him gratefully as Croy summoned the missing shoe. It flew out at him from under Harry's bed. Croy caught the wayward footware, handing it to his young charge with a small smile. "You should probably clean your room." He said. Harry gave him a contrite look as he eyed the shoe.

"Ugh." The boy said, turning up a corner of his mouth. Croy raised an eyebrow and looked at the shoe, noticing a rather large dollop of slobber trailing out of it. "Padfoot!" Harry exclaimed, trying to shake the moisture out of the shoe.

Croy sighed, and waved his wand over the shoe, muttering a cleaning charm. Harry gave him a grateful smile and pulled it on his foot.

"Ready?" Croy asked him, looking the boy up and down, making sure Harry was properly dressed. Harry nodded and Croy led him back down the hallway to the living room.

Sequestered in one unused corner was a two-meter square tiled area that marked an apparation point for the flat. Croy knew that most large wizarding mansions and public locations had full rooms for apparation, but a two story flat in crowded Diagon Alley had only room for a corner. Croy rather preferred it. It was easier to ward and keep an eye on.

Croy pulled Harry close to his left side, wrapping and arm around the boy's shoulder. Riddle flew from his perch on the mantle and dug his talons into Croy's shoulder.

"Have fun, then." Regulus said, watching them from his ceiling corner.

Croy gave Harry time to wave, before apparating out of the flat, bringing his two companions with him.

They appeared a top of small grassy knoll in the middle of a sparsely forested clearing. None of the three was much ruffled by the trip. Croy had long ago mastered apparation without the more common need to turn in place or hop around. He could simply apparate without any movement at all, just a well concentrated thought.

"Happy birthday, Harry." Croy said down to the boy with a smile as he clenched the boy's shoulder. Harry grinned up at him and then took off down the hill through the trees. Croy watched him go, following the boy with his steady limp to the Burrow situated at the nook of two small hills.

_'.He's energetic today.'_ Riddle commented into his head.

"He's six, now." Croy replied, spotting the house through the last row of trees. He could see Harry just reaching the door and being greeted by Molly and Remus.

_'Did you have that much energy at that age?'_ Riddle asked.

Croy didn't reply. He didn't easily remember. He thought about it, letting a few wisps of foggy memory to the surface from the depths of his mind. He saw only the Dursleys, the cupboard under the stairs, and an incident where he had ended up on the roof of his primary school when Dudley had chased him.

"I think I might have." Croy said finally. "But I didn't have the opportunities to use it."

Riddle was silent after that. The bird was aware of Croy's difficulties in remembering his past. As the years went by, his first life, the first time, became further away. Except for occasions where something sparked them, he didn't usually recall his other life much of that time.

Croy reached the Burrow and let himself in, hearing the sounds of the children both inside and outside of the house. He suspected that a few of them were in the garden around back. He spotted Molly bustling around the kitchen as he removed his robes and hung them on one of the hooks lined on the wall near the door. The hook reached out and grasped the nape of his robe, retreating back to its usual place a moment later. Riddle settled back on his shoulder as Croy stood in the doorway between the kitchen and mudroom.

"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley." Croy said softly, trying not to startle the woman. Molly turned on her heal with a wooden spoon in her hand, but calmed down once she saw him.

"Liam, welcome, dear." She said with a warm smile, "How many times do I have to tell you to call me Molly?"

Croy shrugged, giving the woman a small smile. She was one of very few who hadn't fallen into calling him Croy. Sirius's early nickname for him had stuck rather firmly. They both knew that the answer to her question was 'every time'. "Is Sirius here yet?"

"Yes, he's in the garden with his friends."

Croy blinked. "He brought friends?"

Molly looked at him with what Croy would swear was a smirk. "He brought along two lady friends, said you knew them already."

Croy narrowed his eyes as he looked towards the direction of the back garden, debating on how he wanted to dismember his godfather. Muttering a thanks to Molly, Croy made his way through the house, intent on finding Sirius. Charlie found him first. The lad barreled down the stairs, and ran straight into Croy, who was passing by the bottom of them.

Despite his leg and the use of a cane, Croy barely moved at the impact, having seen the blur that was the second Weasley son just before the collision and had time to brace himself for it. Charlie tumbled backwards, landing in a heap at Croy's feet and staring a bit dazedly around him. Croy leaned down and pulled the boy to his feet, noticing that the thirteen-year-old was already taller than his shoulders.

"Sorry, Mr. Croyus." Charlie stammered, "I didn't see you."

"Don't worry about it." Croy said, leaning on his cane. "I saw you."

Charlie gave him a lopsided grin before continuing on his way out of the Burrow, though at a slower pace than before. Croy followed the boy out of the living room and into the garden. Most of the household was scattered about the yard, and there were a few more guests than he had been expecting. Molly had over done herself for the boys' party.

Croy spotted the second birthday boy before he saw his godfather, so made his way through the various people over to Neville Longbottom. Limping up to him, Croy saw Neville glance at him a bit warily, though with Ginny chattering at him from his side, Neville couldn't easily escape.

Croy smiled down at the two, noticing that Neville was only slightly relieved. Ginny stopped her somewhat one sided conversation and grinned up at him.

"Hello, Mr. Croyus!" she greeted with a clear voice.

"Hello, Ginny, how are you?" Croy asked, sitting in a chair next to them. Neville watched him with some curiosity, and not a little trepidation. Croy wasn't sure why, though there had been numerous occasions in which Sirius had informed him that he could look rather frightening.

"I'm good, sir. This is Neville Longbottom, Mr. Croyus." Ginny introduced, "Neville, this is Harry's uncle, Mr. Croyus."

Croy shook the boy's hand, giving him a happy birthday, which brought a shy smile out of the boy.

"Mr. Croyus helps mom and dad with our primary lessons." Ginny said to Neville, "He's taught us all sorts of neat things!"

Croy listened to Ginny tell Neville about some of the 'neat things' he had shown the group of young kids. She was particularly fond of the time he had brought a Niffler over to the Burrow. The twins had had all sorts of trouble with the small creature once it learned that they hid candy in their pockets, wrapped in shiny foil. Ginny had thought it hilarious, and loved to tell the story to anyone who would listen.

Croy spotted Sirius towards the end of the story, and recognized the two young ladies with him. They were sisters with nearly ten years between them; they were very similar to each other – both with brown hair and light eyes. He had done a number of odd jobs for their father, Lord Nolan, over the years. Croy had spent a week in the man's manor earlier in the summer, going through a stock-pile of items that the man had collected for him. He tended to have another room full of pieces about three to five times a year. Croy never bothered to ask how he managed such a turn over.

Bidding a farewell to the kids, Croy approached the three, knowing exactly why Sirius had brought the Nolan girls along with him, and was only partially irked at his godfather for it.

"Croy, I figured you were here," Sirius said in greeting, "I saw Harry tear around the house with Ron and Cedric just a minute ago."

Croy nodded, and turned to the women to greet them. "Miss Nolan," Croy said, shaking the younger girl's hand with a small smile. He didn't know the younger sister, Nanette, very well. He had met her a few times, but had only minimal interactions with her; her older sister however, Croy new quite well. "And Emmeline," Croy said, turning to the older girl, only a year younger than himself, "It's a pleasure to see you again."

"Hello, Liam." Emmeline said, pulling him into a gentle hug, her long curly hair draping over his arms, "How has your summer been?"

"Good, actually." Croy said, smiling at the woman. She was the other one who actually used his given name, though while Mrs. Weasley seemed to just prefer first names, Croy was pretty sure that Emmeline did it just because nobody else did. "It's nice to be tutoring the younger ones."

"How is Harry?" she asked, her golden-brown eyes flitting between him and Sirius, "Sirius will only laugh and point him out to me as he runs by."

Croy shook his head at his godfather in exasperation, eliciting a wide grin from Sirius. The exchange reminded Croy that he was actually older than the other man, especially when their respective maturity levels were compared. Croy shifted his cane to his left hand, and offered Emmeline his arm, smiling at her when she slipped her hand through his elbow.

"I'll have to introduce you then. I apologize that I have not made the opportunity for you to meet him before." Croy said, guiding her through the garden at a steady – if limping – pace. Emmeline matched her step to his, not seeming to be bothered by his off kilter gate as she spoke of her family and father's business to him. Croy enjoyed her company immensely, more than he would ever have imagined. He knew that Sirius was trying to get the two to date, not that he would ever let the man know that they already were. Croy had taken Emmeline out to dinner on more than one occasion, eliciting Harry's help in distracting Sirius each time. Croy enjoyed surprising his godfather when he could.

Croy escorted Emmeline to the other side of the yard from his godfather, keeping an eye out for the next time that Harry ran through the area so he would be able to snag the boy. Until then, he lowered himself into a chair, and continued his conversation with a woman that he was beginning to think he rather really liked.

oooOoooOoooOooo


	10. Riddle Me This 03

**Author's Note:** Another installment of the Riddle Me This AU world.

**Disclaimer:** Hmm…come on! You know they aren't mine.

'_telepathy or mind-to-mind.'_

ss,parseltongue,ss

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Riddle Me This 03**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

Their London flat overlooking Diagon Alley was an old secondary property of the Potter's. Croy had used the place late in the war to hide, before it was found and destroyed. He knew that it had been empty since Charlus Potter had died, years before James and Lily even got married. Hidden under a host of wards and barriers, the flat was extremely difficult to get to, or even see. Croy was able to apparate into the flat with little trouble the night he took Harry and Sirius from Godric's Hollow. He knew just where it was and what wards covered the place.

The three Blacks lived there alone, and used the wizarding alleys and the streets of London as a playground when they needed some fresh air. With both Sirius and Croy working, and Harry at the Weasley's a few days a week, they weren't actually closed into the two story flat all that much.

It was a cold, rainy day in the winter of Harry's sixth year that found the three cooped up inside their living room entertaining the oldest Nolan sister and Remus Lupin. Harry sat on the sofa between Remus and Emmeline, regaling the two with a tale of Harry's and Padfoot's exploits through the various alleys connected with Diagon, eliciting amused laughter from the two as well as Sirius. Harry had taken to riding his bike amongst the shoppers, either chasing, or being chased by, Padfoot.

Croy could feel the subtle familiar chill of Regulus' presence, floating near his chair, but with Remus not being aware of who Croy was born as, the ghost remained invisible and silent. Both Croy and Sirius knew that there would come a day that they would tell Remus everything, but neither were prepared to do so and risk Remus' mind being read, unprotected as it was yet, but Croy could feel Remus' growing skills in Occlumency. It would not be too long.

Croy watched them all with a small smile on his face, marveling at the laughter and joy he saw. Even Remus's face was youthful as he laughed at Harry's tale. The werewolf looked younger than Croy recalled him to be, his hair was sandy and not grey, and the lines that he expected to be on his face were not there, not all of them at least.

Sirius had made sure to keep in touch with the werewolf, and while Remus was unaware of Croy's true past, he remained close to them and made a point to return to London a few times a year to drop in. The werewolf had found a life he could live outside of the country, and none of the Blacks begrudged him that.

Croy rose from his chair silently, using his cane to balance himself. Harry glanced at him, but continued his story, sending the others into laughter. Croy smiled at them and went into the kitchen, intent on starting dinner. Riddle flapped after him, settling onto the back of the chair that Croy hooked his cane over.

'_She's following you.'_ the bird said to his mind. Croy glanced towards the doorway, seeing Emmeline standing there, dressed in her usual style with her brown hair pulled into a messy bun at the back of her head.

"Can I help, Liam?" she asked with a smile.

Croy gave a one-sided shrug and started pulling the ingredients he'd need for the meal out of the cooler. He gave her a small smile and simply pointed out the recipe laying on the counter.

"I'll chop." She offered, taking the vegetables from his hand.

"How is your father?" he asked as they settled into the preparation for the meal.

"He's well. He may be sending you an owl soon. His collection is growing again."

Croy chuckled. "It doesn't take him long."

"No, and I think he rather likes having you around every once in a while."

Croy smiled at her, thinking of their recent engagement as they prepared the dinner meal. Croy had revealed his past and where he came from to Emmeline, planning on giving the woman a month or three to consider all that he had said before asking her to marry him. Her overwhelmingly positive response to his story sparked him to ask her on the spot, presenting the antique ring that he dug out of the Potter vault. He knew that it had belonged to his great aunt, that its twin had been passed down to James to give to Lily.

Croy had left the second delicate diamond ring in the vault for Harry, with all the desperate hope that the boy's life would be different from his own, that the boy would have the chance to fall in love and want to marry. Croy had realized that he looked at his young counterpart as something akin to a son, or nephew; a separate person from himself that he cared for deeply. No longer did he view Harry as his younger self, some alternative timeline's view of who he – Croy – could have been. Harry was different than he was. Liam Duran Croyus-Black was no longer Harry James Potter, no matter the memories of a life he had hidden deep within his mind.

Croy felt a remarkable level of freedom in that revelation

The few times he delved backwards into his old life, into the memories of another time, he could barely reconcile the two lives to each other. He never would have married a girl in the midst of the war he had fought, and even though he knew it would likely occur again, he couldn't bring himself to refuse her. The memories were a bit too distant, the time too peaceful, for him to be able to use the excuse of danger and war to turn her away.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Croy entered the flat, closing the door behind him and feeling the wards ripple at his entrance. The warmth of the flat contrasted nicely to the chill of the English fall. Skullcap was floating in his usual corner, mask and hood pushed back over his head. Harry was sprawled across one of the couches in the living room, a book propped up on his chest. The boy glanced at him as he entered and mumbled a greeting before returning his attention to the book.

Harry had recently found Flourish and Botts, much to Croy's amusement and Sirius's horror, the boy had taken an immediate liking to the dusty old book shop. At just eight years old, Harry was reading at an impressive rate, going through the children's section in the bookstore very quickly and moving on to short chapter books. Croy was impressed with the boy's intelligence, though he figured he shouldn't have been. Without the Dursley's to threaten Harry for getting better marks than Dudley, Harry's education had taken off. Molly doted on him, when he and Ron weren't joining the twins in their mischief at any rate, or following Cedric on their brooms to heights they shouldn't be flying to at their age.

"Good evening, Mr. Croyus." Emmeline said, coming from the hallway with a small bundle in her arms. She slipped an arm around his waist and Croy smiled down at her and their young son.

"Good evening, Mrs. Croyus." He replied softly, laying his lips across her forehead, feeling the short hairs of his beard brush against her skin. He held one hand against the child in her arms softly, careful not to wake the small boy. He marveled at the concept of his son. Laurence James Croyus, named for his two grandfathers. Croy was still stunned every time he saw the infant with his tuft of dark hair.

Harry muffled a gag from the couch at the two. Croy glanced over at the boy with amusement.

"You just wait, Harry." Emmeline warned, "You won't be gagging anymore once you're older."

"Best part about growing up, I say." Regulus said, waggling his eyebrows at them.

Harry curled his lip up in disgust, crossing his eyes at the two before returning to his book. Emmeline laughed lightly.

"Hold Laurence for a bit, Liam, while I get dinner started." she said, handing the infant to him. Croy hooked his cane over the back of a chair and held him carefully, watching the dosing infant with a smile on his face. Laurence wriggled in his arms, and his eyes opened, revealing their golden green color.

Croy smiled at his son, waving his fingers before his nose as he sat on one of the chairs. Laurence gurgled at him and waved his arms, batting at his fingers. Croy's smile widened.

The door of the flat banged open, letting in a draft of cold air.

"Oy!" Sirius called, "I'm home!"

"Shut the door Sirius!" Emmeline called form the kitchen. Sirius jumped and stared down the hallway with his jaw hung open slightly. Remus stepped in beside him, shoving him out of the way so he could close the door. Croy shook his head at the two, watching as Sirius got over his momentary shock at Emmeline's order from the kitchen.

Croy glanced at Regulus, noting that the ghost had pulled the skull mask over his face, but remained visible. Croy and Sirius had told Remus some of Croy's past, and introduced Skullcap, but the ghost's true identity had not yet been told to the werewolf, on Remus' own request. The werewolf had asked them not to tell him more than they thought he needed to know, and Croy respected that request.

"Lookie who I found, Croy." Sirius said, patting Remus on the back hard enough to nearly knock the werewolf off balance.

"Remus!" Harry called, jumping off the couch and running to the two. Harry threw his arms around him, and Remus chuckled as he hugged the boy.

"Awe, where's mine?" Sirius asked, staring at the two with a defeated look on his face.

"I see you every day." Harry said with a smirk.

"So?"

Harry shrugged, and pulled Remus into the living room, telling the werewolf to sit with him on the couch, and showing off his new book. Sirius trooped after them in a slouch. Croy raised an eyebrow at his antics, amused.

"How's the little one, Croy?" Remus asked, putting an arm around Harry. Cory smiled, and held the child in his arms up, turning the infant around so he could see the room.

"Ah, my second godson!" Sirius said, stooping down to take Laurence from him. Croy let him, watching as Sirius cradled the boy in his arms.

"How old is he now?" Remus asked.

"He was born in May," Croy said, counting the months. "So five months now."

"He's that old already?" Remus said, watching Sirius make faces at the child. Croy could hear Laurence spitting bubbles back at the man, which just goaded Sirius on.

"He's gotten so big." Croy said, and eyed Harry, "They grow fast."

Remus smiled at him, placing a hand across Harry's shoulder beside him. "They do, don't they."

oooOoooOoooOooo

The boy known as Harry Potter was nearly nine when he met Albus Dumbledore. Croy had finally come to terms with his own age of thirty-six compared to his godfather's twenty-nine. It was strange that Sirius was so much younger than him, both physically and in many cases especially mentally. Croy didn't even try to think about the age comparisons with his old friends. He was old enough to be their father in most cases. He was a father. He had a hard time still thinking of that, even after a year.

It was a cool, summer afternoon and Croy was seated on the balcony in his chair, watching the wizards below him go about their business when the old man appeared in the alley, staring up at him. Croy was sure that he saw the twinkle in the man's eyes, even from four stories up.

Croy watched the old wizard for a few moments, running his fingers idly over the short growth of beard on his chin, his face impassive as he looked upon a man whom he considered the closest thing to a grandfather he ever knew. Dumbledore had done some rather silly things in regards to his upbringing, but Croy had long ago forgiven the man of his errors. Albus Dumbledore, despite the rumors, was only human after all. Croy even was glad on some levels for all that Dumbledore's decisions had caused, since he knew that the skills he had in many ways came from the experiences he had growing up. He did not blame the man. Croy had made as many mistakes, some worse.

_'So that's Dumbledore?'_ Riddle said inside his mind. Croy nodded his response, just a slight tilt of his head. The raven turned its head back and forth, before settling one of its red-brown eyes on the old wizard in the alley. Croy watched as Dumbledore nodded slightly to him, no more a movement than what he had done, and then the old man walked across the alley, disappearing from view as he passed beneath the balcony.

Croy knew that the man would be arriving at his door soon.

He rose from the chair, entering the flat in silence despite his cane and limp, startling Sirius a bit as he closed the sliding door behind him. Sirius looked up at him with a smile before returning his attention to the paperwork strewn around him on the floor. Croy eyed the mess a moment, recognizing the Ministry papers as Auror mission reports for the most part.

"Albus is here." Croy said, idly scanning a few of the reports. Nothing struck his interest. It was still too early for Voldemort to have begun to move. But it was his Death Eaters that worried Croy a bit. He knew little of the decade that passed in the wizarding world while he grew up at the Dursleys, but he was sure that the Death Eaters weren't entirely silent in that time. Yet nothing significant had risen in the past eight years, small things, yes, but nothing that warranted much of Croy's attention.

"Albus?" Sirius said, looking back up from the papers, "Here?"

Croy raised an eyebrow at him in amusement, "Yes."

"How do you know?" Sirius asked, pulling the papers into a messy stack with some impatience.

"I just do." Croy said with a smirk, turning to go down the hallway.

Sirius grumbled behind him darkly, causing Croy's smirk to widen. He enjoyed winding his godfather up a bit, it wasn't often that he got the opportunity. Sirius was a Marauder after all, and Croy had been too distracted with Voldemort to get much practice in as a prankster, therefore, he was little match for the professional he had left in the living room. Croy took what he could get, which was often simply aggravating the man with the things he knew, and keeping many of his tricks on how he knew, a secret.

Croy went up the stairs to Harry's room. When Croy and Emmeline had married two years ago and moved into the flat, Harry and Sirius had moved their bedrooms to the second floor, leaving the larger main level to the newlyweds. With their first child past his first year, it was a good arrangement. Emmeline had taken over the spare bedroom next to the master suite as a nursery for their young son.

Croy stopped and knocked on the open door of Harry's room, spotting the boy seated cross-legged on the bed and bent double over some gadget in his lap. Regulus floated near him, his mask covering his face, and giving Harry unhelpful suggestions. Croy was quite sure that Regulus had about as strong a pranking streak as Sirius, but was far more subtle in his execution.

"Come in, uncle Croy." Harry said, not looking up from his project. Croy knew that Sirius never knocked; it was like the man ignored the concept of a door most of the time. Harry could tell which of his 'uncles' was at his doorway simply because Croy was the only one who ever knocked – every time.

Croy entered the room, watching the boy stick his tongue out between his teeth as he fiddled with the toy. Croy inspected the object, thinking it looked rather like a muggle pocket watch, though it was missing most of its pieces.

"What is it?" Croy asked, his voice quiet as his mixed accent rolled over his tongue.

Harry glanced up at him, his green eyes bright as he peered over his glasses. Harry pushed them up with his finger over his nose, "It's a pocket watch. I found it in the pawn shop down at the end of Diagon. It doesn't work though. I'm trying to figure out why."

Croy looked down at the disassembled pieces strewn across the boy's lap and bedspread. Croy had discovered his interest in tinkering late in his life, when he was holed up unexpectedly for nearly a month with little to do, sometime around his twenty-fourth birthday. He had taken an old wizarding clock apart out of vindictive boredom, and found an intense interest for the process of putting the thing back together again. It took him nearly the entire month to piece it back together, and it never did work rightly once it was whole again, but Croy had found a hobby, however little time he had to play with it. He hadn't realized that growing up at the Dursleys without anything to call his own had hidden that interest from him. Throughout his Hogwarts years Croy would never have dreamed of taking a precious possession apart just to see how it worked.

"Is it missing the quartz?" Croy asked the boy, noticing the age of the watch.

Harry shrugged, remaining silent as he fiddled with the pieces again.

"Albus Dumbledore is coming for a visit." Croy said, watching Harry piece the pocket watch back together.

Harry looked back up at him, "When?"

"Now."

Harry blinked, surprised, "Does he want to see me?"

Croy shrugged one shoulder, having learned not to dislodge the raven using him for a perch long ago. "I don't know. Probably."

"Most likely." Regulus said. "I'm rather surprised it took the old man nine years to get here."

Croy gave the ghost a quelling look. He was well aware of Regulus' opinion of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Snape may have felt comfortable going to Dumbledore after leaving Voldemort, but Regulus never had. Croy was only vaguely aware of the reasons why the younger Black brother didn't fully trust Dumbledore, and it was enough for him not to bother asking for the details.

Harry nodded. "Ok."

"Croy!" Sirius yelled up the stairs, "Harry! We have a guest, come be socially adjusted, normal wizards for a while! This guy's an important one!"

_'He's an idiot.'_ Riddle commented in his mind. Croy rolled his eyes, though he wasn't sure whether it was at Sirius or the raven's telepathic comment.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the doorway, "I don't want to be normal Sirius!" he called back in a bit of a whining tone, "I like being a weird nine year old wizard who shakes with the wrong hand and goes cross-eyed when introduced to proper wizarding society citizens!"

Croy sighed, remembering vaguely that he had only wanted to be normal for most of his life growing up. He supposed then, that being normal meant that one didn't want to be. He found it all a bit ironic and tried not to think about it less he fall into a depression or something. Harry's life was very different as a child from his own. But that was the point.

Croy ushered Harry out of the room with his cane, sending a warning look towards the ghost and following the boy down the hallway into the living room. Sirius had seated Dumbledore and a full-service tea set was already on the coffee table. Croy could see Dumbledore's amusement clearly, and Sirius was grinning.

"Headmaster, this is Liam Croyus-Black," Sirius introduced, "And Croy, I think you know that this old man is Hogwarts' Headmaster Albus Dumbledore already."

Croy nodded, switching his cane to his left hand and shaking Dumbledore's hand firmly as the man rose to his feet.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Croyus-Black."

"Just Croyus, please." Croy said, "I don't need reminding of my relation to this fool any more than necessary."

Albus chuckled, both of them ignoring Sirius's harumph, "As you wish, Mr. Croyus."

"And my godson, Harry Potter." Sirius said with a smirk, ruffling Harry's hair and dodging the boy's swing at his arm.

"Nice to meet you, sir." Harry said, offering his left hand to shake and crossing his eyes at the old man.

Albus didn't even blink, taking Harry's hand with his own left and crossing his eyes back at the boy, smiling brightly and twinkling at him over his glasses.

"The pleasure is mine, young Mr. Potter."

Sirius laughed, and Croy just shook his head at them all as he lowered himself into a wing-backed chair. Riddle shifted, flying up to perch on the back of the chair over his head as Croy hooked his cane over the armrest.

"I am sorry that my wife isn't here, Headmaster." Croy said, eyeing the man from his chair. "I would have liked her to have met you."

"Next time I stop by, I'll make sure to send an owl beforehand." Dumbledore said with a slightly contrite look. Croy held in his sigh. At least the man understood his irritation at the unexpected visit.

The others took seats as well, and Harry offered to poor the tea, proving that he had some semblance of hospitable manners in him, despite Sirius and the ghost's attempts at otherwise.

"How's Hogwarts, Headmaster?" Sirius asked, dumping sugar into his tea at a rate that always made Croy sick to think about.

"Very well," Albus replied, "We'll have two new Professors for the next fall term, both our Professors of Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts will be leaving us this spring."

"Sluggy's going away, is he?" Sirius said with a grin.

"Indeed, Professor Slughorn has decided to retire to his solitude." Albus said, not bothering to reprimand Sirius about the nick-name. "And once again I must find another teacher for Defense, and my Magical Creatures Professor is threatening his retirement soon as well, though I do not blame him. It is difficult to teach with only one arm."

"Tough luck, that." Sirius said.

"Why is the Defense Professor leaving?" Harry asked, looking between Sirius and the Headmaster.

Albus smiled over at him, "The position seems to be under a bit of a curse. I can't seem to keep a Professor in the classroom for more than a year."

Croy knew that this was very much the truth, though whether the position was actually cursed with magic was skeptical, the DADA Professorship would cycle through a new teacher every year until after he had left the school himself. By that time it didn't matter much. Croy let the vague memories slip back into the mist of his mind not wanting to pull them out in front of either Albus or Harry. When he tugged one of his old memories into his consciousness, the rest tended to come with it in a cascading effect of raw emotions and turbulent magics. He preferred to leave well enough alone usually.

"Why don't you teach it, Sirius?" Harry asked, turning his wide green eyes to his godfather.

Sirius nearly jumped out of his chair, and Croy watched him with open amusement as the man spilled half his tea into his lap with a curse in Russian – something he had picked up from Croy.

"What?!" Sirius yelled, looking considerably upset, "I would never… Me? I… I'm a Marauder!"

Croy laughed, his long-honed quietness translating into the sounds of his laughter. Harry and Albus both joined him. Croy found it incredibly funny. Sirius would never consider teaching, especially at Hogwarts. It would go against everything that a Marauder should be, according to his definition of the role.

Sirius stared at the three of them, still slightly panicked at the thought of even thinking about being a Professor, before settling glinting eyes on Croy. Croy narrowed his own slightly in return, recognizing the look for the trouble that it would undoubtedly cause him.

"Croy could do it, you know." Sirius said, pointing a finger at him and leaning conspiratorially towards Albus. "He'd probably be bloody good at it too."

"Oh?" the Headmaster turned blue eyes to him and Croy silently promised Sirius much pain. "Do you know Defense Against the Dark Arts, Mr. Croyus?"

Croy nodded, "Well enough, though and I'm afraid I already have a job, Headmaster."

Sirius snorted. "You're a freelance Curse-Breaker, Croy, you could teach at Hogwarts and still find time to fiddle with all that crazy cursed crap you and Harry bring home from Razili's."

Croy scowled at him, tapping his empty teacup against the top of his cane lightly in irritation. He would freely admit that he took on enough Curse-Breaker jobs to call himself one, but that was hardly what he did most of the time.

"Sam?" Harry asked, looking between his two uncles. "The bloke that owns Razili's Pawns?"

"That's the one." Sirius said.

"Mr. Razili." Croy corrected automatically, though he knew that Samuel Razili had told Harry to call him 'just Sam' on more than one occasion that the boy had snuck into the dusty, wizarding pawn-shop. Croy personally thought it a bit too dangerous for a kid to be wandering around in, but neither Sirius or Samuel – or Harry for that matter – agreed with him.

"And you retested for your British Mastership seven years ago." Sirius added with a smirk. Croy glared at him. "And received it with high honors, as I recall."

"They were easily impressed." Croy muttered darkly, plotting painful paybacks for his godfather.

"Retested?" Harry asked.

"Croy, here, first got his Defense Mastery when he was twenty-one, back in Russia." Sirius said, pointing at Croy with a lofty wave of his hand. "But it didn't transfer over or something so he got the British equivalent as well."

"It was more a renewel, than a true testing." Croy said. "The Ministry here at least honored the fact that I held the certifications, even if they don't like Russia's take on the subject. They simply allowed for me to face the testing as a ten-year certification renewel." He didn't really like telling the world about the two Masterships. A Defense Mastery was a bit different between the two countries. While he didn't mind so much letting people know of his British certifications – indeed, it had been posted in the Prophet due to his young age of twenty-nine – letting people in on his Russian equivalents was a bit more telling. The Russian tests were more trying and the failure rate was huge, resulting in a far more rare and prestigious certification, something that Dumbledore no doubt was aware of.

"The subject is treated differently in Russia than it is here." Albus said. "May I ask, Mr. Croyus, how old you are?"

"Thirty-six." Croy stated.

"You are a bit young to have received a Defense Mastery. It is arguably the most difficult Mastery to receive." Albus said. "And yet you received the Russian Defense Mastery at twenty-one?"

Croy could see that Albus was obviously impressed, which struck an odd chord in him. It wasn't every day that one saw Albus Dumbledore impressed or surprised. Croy briefly wondered if Albus would be wary of him because of his extremely young age at gaining his Defense Mastery. Snape may have been an impressively young Potions Master, but the amount of Defense Masters around was very few. Master certifications always involved hands-on experience in tandem with a person's more academic knowledge. Professors of the subject were more typically of Novice level rather than Master. Croy refused to admit even to Sirius how close he was to by-passing Master and reaching Adept, a rank that has never been recorded being given to someone younger than fifty.

"I would certainly like to consider you for the position, Mr. Croyus" Albus said, causing Croy to lock wary eyes with the Headmaster, "It is becoming increasingly difficult to find a decent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and we haven't had the privilege to employ a Defense Master in nearly eighty years. It is really quite a shame for the students."

Croy knew that tactic. Albus had used it on him the first time around more than he cared to recall. The biggest problem Croy had with it was that it usually worked.

"I'll consider the option, Headmaster." Croy said, making his hand stop tapping the teacup on his cane.

"Wonderful!"

_'He might as well give you the position now.'_ Riddle said in his head, the bird's amusement obvious. Croy held in a sigh, and didn't answer the raven. He had no intention of letting Albus think he would walk into the DADA Professorship so easily, just because Sirius used him as a scapegoat. Croy was determined to at least make Dumbledore work for it a bit.

"That would be cool." Harry piped up, grinning at him. Croy gave him a look, not bothering to respond, and deftly ignoring Sirius' chuckles across from him.

"I am curious, Mr. Croyus." Dumbledore said through his amusement, "Why do you carry a cane? Most injuries can be corrected with Magical Medicine."

Croy glanced down at the dark wood cane under his right hand. It was well worn after eight years of use. It wasn't the same as the one he had used before the end of the war, but he had a hard time recalling what his old one looked like most of the time. He didn't forget the reason why he needed it though.

He palmed the cane, feeling the warm wood under his fingers and tapped it against his right leg sharply. A muted clang echoed into the room, and Croy glanced up at Albus from the corner of his eyes. The Headmaster looked a bit surprised that he wore a metal brace on his leg. Such a thing was rare in the wizarding world.

"What ever happened?" Albus asked, his curiosity clear and honest. Croy didn't mind the curiosity so long as it didn't come along with anything malicious. He had learned to be cautious with giving out information. Too often it had been used against him. Either way, he still trusted the old man.

"A beater's bat." Croy said. "Shattered the bones and severed the tendons. It wasn't looked at soon enough, and the medi-wizards were unable to repair the damage."

"I am sorry." Albus said, then smiled softly, "You played Quidditch, then?"

Croy nodded. "Seeker and occasionally Beater."

"Ah, are you able to still fly?"

"Yes, with only minor limitations. It's being on the ground that's difficult." Croy said a bit wryly.

Albus chuckled. Croy smiled in response, letting the man deduce that the injury had been while he was on a broom playing Quidditch. In reality his shattered leg had been caused by a beater's bat, but he had not been on a broom, he had been chained to a table in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, and it was no Quidditch Beater that held the bat in his hands. Croy had been in their clutches for nearly three months and by that point, his leg was beyond repair. He would never walk without the aid of a full support brace and a cane. His leg simply could not take the weight of his slight body. Skelegro could only repair so much. There simply had been too much damage and too much time before treatment.

Croy returned the cane to the armrest, rubbing a bit absently at the strap around his thigh from the brace. It covered his leg from the middle of his thigh down to the arch of his foot. It was designed to allow his leg to bend while fully supporting him as he walked or stood. It was the only thing that magic could do to help him at that point. That and mild pain-reliever potions for when it rained and his bones began to ache.

"So, Sirius," Albus said, "You brought young Mr. Potter here into your family."

Sirius grinned at him, "You bet. He's my own little Potter-Black now." Sirius said, laying a heavy hand on the top of Harry's head and mussing his hair again.

"Oy, gerrof!" Harry said, swatting as his godfather.

Croy watched the conversation silently. Sirius, as the Lord Black, named both Harry and Croy as honorary members of the Black family, which gave them their hyphenated Black names. Neither Croy nor Harry typically introduced themselves with the Black name, but they were as much Black as they were Potter or Croyus. Every once in a while Sirius just enjoyed reminded them all that they were a family.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Croy waited for the Thestrals pulling the carriages in silence, leaning on his cane and listening idly to Riddle's comments in his head. He could hear Hagrid whistling from the forest behind him, and the faint scent of raw meat drifted towards him from the direction of the Groundskeeper. The bird sat on his shoulder as per usual, again degrading Croy's choice to accept the position as Professor. They had had the same conversation multiple times before.

_'Stuck with the monsters for the next nine months.'_ Riddle said darkly in his head. _'You're a bloody idiot, you know.'_

"Thank you, Riddle." Croy said dryly, "And they aren't that bad."

_'Children? Not that bad? Are you mad?'_

Croy grunted, eyeing the carriages as they rounded the bend of the lake, "You like Laurence and Harry."

_'Laurence is a fledgling.'_ Riddle said tartly in his head, _'And Harry is different.'_

The skeletal creatures tossed their heads as they paused long enough to let their passengers out of the carriages and continue around the grounds to where Croy waited for them near the carriage house. The students barely looked back as they climbed the stairs and went through the main doors. Their voices floated over the grounds, muffled by the distance.

"Harry is the same sort of child as all the Weasley's are." Croy said to the bird.

_'Completely different.'_ Riddle said. _'How can you not see that?'_

"I don't see a difference." Croy said turning his attentions to unharnessing the Thestrels as the first carriage neared him. Riddle gave up the argument as Croy unbuckled the leather straps, patting the creature on its flanks. The Thestrel turned its head to look at him before trotting away towards the forest, ruffling its wings. Hagrid met the creature within the tree line, tossing it a chunk of red meat. Croy pulled his wand and directed the empty carriage to its place in the barn.

It didn't take him long to free the Thestrels. Taking a second look around the grounds to make sure there wasn't a straggler, Croy locked the carriage house doors. A few Thestrels waiting at the forest's edge called to him before turning into the trees. Hagrid waved him on, his large form in the midst of the herd of skeletal creatures. Croy watched them for a moment and turned to the castle. Riddle ruffled his feathers as he began to walk, using his cane as he steadily limped across the length of the castle grounds towards the castle and the feast inside.

Croy had taken the teaching job at Hogwarts, much to Riddle's ire and Sirius' amusement. Croy had hexed his godfather at the time in attempt to silence the man while he fire-called the Headmaster.

Croy entered Hogwarts the first time as a Professor the fall after Harry turned nine. He was one of two new professors that term, and found himself on par with a younger, newly crowned Potions Master; Snape. Croy found it incredibly odd to sit at staff meetings with a man who had impacted his first life so much growing up, to find Snape nearly a decade younger than himself.

The sudden, noisy sounds of the students broke through his thoughts as he entered the castle. Croy eyed the mass of pointy black hats from the doorway for a moment, ignoring Riddle's scathing insults about the noise of the children. He found the four Weasley's quickly, all of them seated at the Gryffindor table. The twins had just been sorted and the hat was already gone. Croy noticed that the Headmaster was trying to get the students' attention, and the hall slowly quieted.

_'You do know that you're in trouble, right?'_ Riddle said to him. Croy didn't respond. _'Those two brats are going to give you a run for you money.'_

Croy didn't disagree. The twins seemed a bit more daring to him than he had expected. With them knowing him for the past four years, Croy knew that the Weasley twins would be targeting him and his classes.

_'Snape is glaring at you again.'_ Riddle said.

Croy again didn't respond, but became aware of the glare that the dark-haired man was directing at him from the head table. Croy simply watched as the Headmaster got the attention of the student body and started in on the announcements.

"Welcome, welcome," Dumbledore said, the candlelight flickering in his beard, "To another year at Hogwarts. I have some announcements to make, and I think that I will get them out of the way before we all become befuddled with our wonderful feast."

_'He's barmy, you know.' _Riddle commented. Croy could hear the dry tone in the bird's voice within his head. He sighed, rather agreeing with the raven.

"We have two new Professors joining us this year," Dumbledore continued jovially, "It is a great honor for me to welcome Defense Master Liam Croyus-Black, who has graciously agreed to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts for this year, and with much hope for the years to come."

Croy entered the hall at the Headmaster's urging, giving him a look as he made his way down the length of the Great Hall. The Weasley twins were on their feet, whistling at him and clapping loudly, causing Percy to blush and attempt to make them sit back down, though his efforts were soundly ignored. Charlie was laughing at his brothers, and gave Croy a thumbs up.

Croy shook his head slightly as he took his seat between Snape and Kettleburn, using the arms of his chair to lower himself without his leg complaining for the weight. Riddle ruffled his feathers and shifted to perch on the back of the chair.

Kettleburn gave him a thankful nod, which Croy returned. He had agreed to aid with the Thestrals, letting Kettleburn sit the feast. Croy didn't mind, it gave him more time away from the scowling Snape seated next to him.

"Our second new appointment is Potions Master Severus Snape," Dumbledore continued, motioning towards the man next to Croy, "Professor Snape has also accepted the responsibilities and duties as the Head of Slytherin, after Professor Slughorn. As a Slytherin Prefect during his days as a student, he is well suited for the post."

Croy noticed the solid response from the Slytherin students, and the barely polite applause coming from the Gryffindor table. Snape rose stiffly, glared at the students, and seated himself barely a moment later.

Croy had a tendril of memory come from the depths of his mind, from his first timeline, of Snape's glares in multiple scenarios. He was somewhat comforted in that some things hadn't changed.

He relished in the changes, and feared them. He feared that he would not be able to protect Harry if things deviated from his life as Harry Potter too much. He would not be able to predict things if they all got to be too different, and yet already things were drastically different than the memories that he could reach of his other life. He wondered, how much more things would change in the years to come. Harry would receive his Hogwarts letter in two years, and attend Hogwarts knowing exactly who, and what he was, with the full support of his two uncles, one of which had lived his life before.

Croy couldn't help but be worried about the deviations, and the future. He knew some of the things that were going to come, and he feared for Harry. Yet he desperately held on to the hope that things would be different; they already were.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Author's Note:** The entire Riddle Me This world was created around that scene where Croy (Harry-from-the-future) was seated on his balcony looking down at Albus Dumbledore. Funny how stories like this get out of hand from such a simple scene…


	11. Solvo Vita 04

**Author's Note: **And Solvo Vita continues… if just because I like the conversations between Harry and Draco in this storyline.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Solvo Vita 04**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

"_History is the sum total of things that might have been avoided." – Konrad Adenaur_

Harry stared out at the rolling landscape from his seat aboard the train. The hills of northern Italy flashed by in a gold and green blur, broken only by the occasional tunnel and forest as they neared the more mountainous regions of the north.

Harry turned his gaze from the window to look at his companion. Draco was slouched uncharacteristically in the seat across from him with a French Wizarding paper up in front of his face.

"You know," Harry said, "You haven't moved an inch in the past three hours."

Draco lowered his paper enough so that Harry could see his raised brow. "Thank you for that, Potter. That was an imperative piece of information."

"I know." Harry quipped back, "That's why I told you."

Draco scowled at him before disappearing behind his paper once more.

"I just thought you might want to get up and move around a bit." Harry continued, "Or at least shift a little. You know, to make sure that your muscles will still move when you want them to, reassure yourself that you haven't turned to stone, or mush."

"Potter."

Harry stopped his monologue and took in the sight of the paper again. "Yes?"

"Shut up."

Harry harrumphed and turned back to the window. "You're no fun."

Draco lowered his paper irritably, "You spent half a dozen years running around on your own, and you can't handle a quick trip by train without needing to bug your traveling companion?"

Harry turned his gaze to his friend. "I didn't travel alone." He informed him, "There were usually at least one other person along for the ride."

"No, you just didn't take a private compartment; instead you sat in the public cars and talked the ears off whichever poor soul got stuck in a seat next to yours."

"It was your idea to get a private compartment." Harry reminded him.

"A decision I am finding that I regret."

"What, you would prefer the gaggling group of rowdy kids, the snoring old geezer drooling on your shoulder and the matronly old aunt knitting stockings and telling you all about her family and her brothers and the little orphan boy she met when she was in London on…"

"Ok, I get it." Draco scowled, "I'm not sure what's worse, you or your imagination."

"My imagination isn't that bad."

"It's certainly not impressive."

"Fine," Harry huffed, "So are you going to talk to me now?"

Draco glared at him. Harry shrugged. "Did you have something on your mind or are you just bored?"

"Actually, I was wondering if I would be required to pay Acton Macomb a visit when we get back." Harry said.

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"What ever for?"

Draco sent him an irritated look.

"You're the Representative, not me." Harry said, "I'm just the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Defeat-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"You're the best Auror who isn't really an Auror that the Ministry has at their disposal."

"Well thanks for the compliment," Harry quipped, "But I am not at the Ministry's beck and call."

"Well, you and I know that, but the Ministry doesn't."  
Harry sniffed irritably. "The Ministry is a royal bunch of idiots then."

"Are you just now finding this out?"

"No, I'm just redefining my definition." Harry said irritably. He glanced around the compartment of the train absently. "You would think they would figure out that I don't take their orders."

"I thought that you did?"

Harry eyed his companion like he was crazy.

"Well, you did jobs for them, didn't you?" Draco asked.

"Not really, no."

"Then what did you do?"

Harry met his friend's eyes somewhat questionably; he had thought that the blonde knew what he did during his past.

"I was a mercenary, Draco." Harry said, "A freelance Auror if you will."

Draco stared at him blankly.

"I began Auror training after I recuperated from the final battle, as you know, but I never actually finished the program, not officially at least. After two years I left the Ministry in order to hunt down any traces of Tom Riddle and any of his blood. It took me the better part of three years to do so."

"Well that accounts for five years," Draco said after a moment, "But what in the bloody hell did you do for the six years after that before you came back to England?"

"I told you, I was a mercenary." Harry said. "I thought you knew all this?"

"All I know is that you carted off to who knows where with a group of mismatched oddballs just like you."

Harry sent him a mild glare. "I've been in England for three years, and you don't know what I did before that?" he asked, bewildered. "Sirius knows, hell, Severus knows."

Draco gave him an irritated look, crossing his arms over his chest. "I never bothered to ask."

"Obviously." Harry said. Draco's eyes narrowed and the blonde turned to the window, avoiding his gaze. Harry noticed the tenseness in his friend, and the barely visible look of hurt in the man's eyes.

Harry sighed audibly and leaned back in his seat. "I'm sorry, Draco." He said, watching his companion closely, "I assumed that you knew what I was up to. Sirius bombarded me with questions as soon as he found me, and Severus just seemed to know without being told. I just assumed that you knew, or figured it out as well. I never meant to leave you out of it, and if I had known…" Harry trailed off and shrugged.

Draco didn't turn from the window. Harry sighed quietly and turned to the window as well, watching the landscape speed by them. After a moment, he began to speak softly.

"During Auror training I discovered that the Power of Slytherin could be harnessed through a complicated set of blood rites and dark rituals. The key to these rituals was Slytherin's blood, or the blood of one of his descendents. Needless to say, that worried me. I left the Auror corps shortly after and commenced a man hunt, or rather blood hunt, for any and all of Slytherin's descendents. None were living, but the bodies still carried trace amounts of blood." Harry stopped for a moment, organizing his memories and what he wanted to say. Draco turned from the window to watch him.

"It took me nearly three years to find and destroy the remains of Slytherin's line. During that time I also searched for Slytherin's Lair, but I had no luck in finding it. Hoping that no one else would find what I failed to, I dropped the matter and turned to the rest of my life. By that point in time, I was hardly Auror material," Harry smiled wryly, "So I met up with a couple acquaintances and worked the Underworld with them as a – mercenary – of sorts. The Ministry would, and did, title me a Rogue Auror, and had a bounty on my head for a while. By that time, however, I was fully embroiled in the Underground, and there were few mercenaries who would take the bounty offered for my head. The few who tried – well – didn't succeed.

"I worked closely with a few others, though as many times as not, I worked alone. My jobs ranged across Europe, Western Asia and North America. Sometime in there, Sirius managed to track me down, and after the run of the mill emotional attack, decided to tag along. He fit right in." Harry paused, remembering the first time his godfather was introduced to Harry's team.

"What exactly did you do?" Draco asked. Harry started slightly. He had nearly forgotten that the man was there.

"Much the same as what you did." Harry said softly. Draco eyed him for a moment before smirking.

"Yea, but I didn't have a bounty on my head by the Ministry." He said.

Harry smirked, "I had three. One still stands, actually, as far as I know."

"Really?!"

Harry hummed his agreement. "Yes, in Russia, or a part of it anyways. One of their organizations has a bounty on my head still."

"Well that's grand." Draco said a bit sarcastically.

"Indeed." Harry eyed his companion. "You were taking jobs from the Ministry, though." He said, continuing their conversation, "I was not, thus they threw a bounty on me hoping that someone would bring me in so they could rope me into working for them."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Not at all." Harry said, "I returned to England quite willingly."

"I thought you were brought in by a Merc, some American guy?"

Harry smirked, "Yea, Quinn."

"Quinn? You knew him?"

"Yes, I had met him a number of years before."

Draco studied him a moment before bursting into laughter. Harry joined him soon after.

"I can't believe you did that." Draco said between breaths, "You actually staged a bounty, that's classic."

Harry smiled wryly. "Quinn is a rather odd fellow." He said, "He began in the American version of our Auror Corps. When his time was up he disappeared and went Rogue, became a mercenary. I met him when we ended up going for the same target, some knockoff, crazy squib that got his hands on some dark potions." Harry waved his hand dismissively, "Anyways, we decided to hook up for the job, and we got along great."

"So you had him 'bring you in', huh?"

"Yup." Harry said with a grin, "Albus contacted me about three years ago, and since I couldn't move freely in England like I wanted and needed to, I had Quinn take me in as a bounty. The Ministry never even suspected it, even gave Quinn the bounty money and offered him a job."

"Why did Albus want you so much, anyways?" Draco asked.

"He was in desperate need of a few professors."

"And he contacted you, of all people?"

"Hey, I'm a good teacher!" Harry said, defensively.

Draco eyed him for a few minutes, obviously processing Harry's story and turning it around in his head. "How many of the current Professors at Hogwarts are your Merc friends?" he asked cautiously. Harry grinned.

"Currently? Including me? Only three."

"Currently? There were others?"

"Yes, Rose taught for a year before she left in a royal huff."

"Oh yes," Draco said with amusement, "Rose. She was a mercenary?" Draco shook his head in wonder. Harry rather agreed with him. Rose wasn't your typical Underground type. Draco glanced sideways at his friend, "Who are the ones that are there now?"

"What, you can't guess?" Harry asked, challengingly.

"I'm not sure that I want to." Draco muttered. "Camdyn and Morgan, then."

Harry nodded. "That wasn't too hard now, was it?"

"Prat."

"Git."

Draco glared at him, refusing to continue their name calling. Harry pouted. "No fun."

"Where did you meet them?" Draco asked after a moment.

"I met Milo Camdyn when I was in New York. His transfiguration skills were particularly helpful on a few jobs. Morgan was a friend of Quinn's and the four of us grouped up quite a bit in the States."

"And now three of you are teaching our children." Draco deadpanned.

"It was Albus' idea, I'll have you know. I warned him that I didn't work well with proper society wizards. He didn't seem to mind, much." Harry tilted his head to the side, thoughtfully, "Actually, he seemed rather excited at the idea."

"He would." Draco said. "You know, I worry about his sanity more each year."

"You aren't the only one." Harry said, "I'm sure Severus has been questioning Albus' sanity for decades."

"The man does make you wonder."

Harry nodded his agreement. They were silent for a few moments, both content in their companionship.

"I do apologize, Draco." Harry said, quietly. "I hadn't meant to keep my past from you."

Draco was silent, so Harry continued, "Sirius hunted me down and joined me, and Severus has his own connections to the Underground and apparently heard enough of the rumors to satisfy any curiosity he might have had about my goings-on. I just assumed that since you were working in the Underground as well, that you knew, or were told."

Draco remained still for a moment, studying him, before waving a hand nonchalantly. "Don't work yourself up about it, Potter. I hardly care what trouble you managed to get yourself into out in the wide world. I'm just disappointed that you managed to make it back in one piece."

"Ungrateful, spoiled prat." Harry grumbled, though in good humor. Draco was hardly the type to accept such an apology, especially when it would mean admitting that he had been hurt.

"Watch it, Potter, I just might decide that I need some extra pocket change and turn you in for the bounty that's on your head. How much is that one, anyways?"

"I don't think I want to tell you." Harry said warily.

"No matter, I'll find it out on my own, then."

"That's hardly comforting." Harry mumbled.

"What was that, Potter?"

"Just bemoaning the circumstances of my life is all." Harry said dramatically.

"Nothing important, then."

Harry glared at his 'friend'.

"So do I have to go to Macomb when we get back?" Harry asked after a moment.

"Yes."

"Why? Remember, we just went over this, I don't take orders from them."

"Not even after Quinn turned you in?"

"No. I refused." Harry said, "They weren't too happy with that, actually, but they seemed somewhat placated that I was going to work for Albus."

"Does Quinn work for them, then? You said they offered him a job."

"Quinn? Work for a Ministry again? Not bloody likely." Harry said. "He flat out refused and took off into the Underground with nary a by-your-leave."

Draco snorted. "Bet the Ministry wasn't terribly pleased. They lost two possible lackeys and a bundle of galleons all in one go."

Harry smirked. "It was terribly satisfying."

"I'll bet."

"So you still haven't answered me." Harry said, "Why are you insisting that I pay Macomb a visit that I do not want to go through?"

"Because."  
"That's hardly a reason. Explain."

Draco eyed him for a moment, "Because I said so."

"What?!" Harry exclaimed, "Since when do I follow your orders?"

"You were on this bloody trip with me; you're going to go in front of Macomb with me, end of discussion."

"End of discussion, my arse." Harry said. "Why do I have to go?"

"Are you deaf? You're going because I said so."

"Hardly."

"No arguments." Draco said flatly.

"Neither I nor Macomb want to see each other, Draco, we're more likely to insult each other than anything else. Why on earth do you want me to go? To hold your hand?"

"Because I need some entertainment after having to put up with this pointless mission."

"Entertainment?!"

"Yes."

Harry stared at his friend, somewhat at a loss for words. The guy wanted him to face Acton Macomb, a man he hardly got along with, nor even liked, for entertainment? Was he mad? Harry smirked slightly, a thought going through his mind.

"Fine." He said neutrally, "I'll go."

Draco eyed him suspiciously at his words. Harry simply returned the stare with an innocent look. If the man wanted entertainment, Harry would oblige. He might get some amusement out of the confrontation in the process, anyways.

"You know," Draco said dryly, "You don't pull off the innocent look very well."

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Author's Note:** The British call their London subway system the Underground. Harry knows this…but he uses the term in a different light. The Underground is the shadowy system of people that are living beneath societies' governmental radars. This Underground knows few country boundaries…their boundaries consist of physical means – rivers, walls, mountains, thick magical wards, etc.; and few embroiled in the Underground have much care for the laws of the governments above them.

Also just to make sure that the time frame is clear for you, I'll recap what we know so far here:

Harry defeated Voldemort on the grounds of Hogwarts at the end of his 7th year, he was 17.

He was 'turned' (partially) and spent over a year recuperating.

He joined the British Auror Corps when he was a little over 19.

He dropped out two years later to hunt down Slytherin's blood, he was 21.

It took him three years to destroy any remnants of Slytherin's line.

He joined up with some friends and became a Mercenary working the Underground, he was 24.

Albus contacted him to return to British popular society. He was 29 years old.

He's been in Britain for three years as a teacher at Hogwarts. He is currently 32.


	12. Harris House 01

**Author's Note:** Just a short one. It was once part of a larger idea, which I currently can no longer recall. Perhaps it'll come back to me one day. Until then… you get to wonder about it. _Glee._

**Disclaimer:** I've stolen them all. Suppose I can keep them?

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Harris House 01**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

Evan had only ever asked him once; why his eyes were burnt, the green he knew they once held charred to a rusty brown. He had only been six. His father had been standing at his desk, his dark eyes staring unseeing out the tall windows of the study. Evan had sat atop a stool too tall for him, his still short legs struggling as he climbed its height. He had watched his father for a long time that day, or at least it had seemed as such. The man had barely moved throughout his vigil.

Evan had asked the question out of pure curiosity. His child-like desire to know the whys of the world around him had always been strong. He had never questioned the color of his father's eyes prior to that day. He hadn't a reason to, but someone in the house had let it slip; that his father's eyes were once green, the same vibrant shade as his own. His curiosity was peeked, and it was stronger than any reservation he may have had at posing the question to his father.

He asked the question into the heavy silence of the room, his young voice clear against the quiet. His father hadn't moved at first, and Evan believed that he hadn't been heard. It was as he was about to repeat his words that his father shifted and turned. Young, vibrant green met weary, burnt brown, and Evan felt both his curiosity and his trepidation rise.

His father had spoken only three words in response to his question, 'Because I failed.'

Evan hadn't understood then. He still didn't, not really, not fully. With his young age, he had interpreted his father's words as meaning that he had failed, and was punished. Of course, such a revelation had caused some fear in him at ever failing himself.

It had been over a month after the incident that he had gathered the courage to ask the same question to another, and received an answer his young mind could comprehend.

He no longer feared getting his eyes burned if he did wrong, but he never again asked his father about the color of his eyes. It wasn't out of any sense of fear or distress, but out of a remarkably mature desire not to make his father think of the memories that his question would bring.

Only when he was older did he realize that his father needed little prompting to recall such memories.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Thoughts from the Author:** You must understand, that Evan has no fear _of_ his father, but rather fears being distant from him, losing him, and thus generally tenders his actions accordingly. Also, despite Harry's current failings as the perfect father, he loves Evan dearly, and harbors his own fears that have remarkably similar leanings as his son's. Then again, Harry harbors fears that go far beyond what his son could know is possible.


	13. Crisis Converging 01

**Author's Note:** Just another idea. Beware: multiple Harry Potters, non-human characters, lots of original characters, schooling outside of Hogwarts, and all sorts of other goodies. Do enjoy.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Crisis Converging**

By Renatus

Chapter 01 : A Crossing of Boundaries

oooOoooOoooOooo

"_When written in Chinese the word 'crisis' is composed of two characters. One represents danger and the other represents opportunity." – John F. Kennedy, speech (1959)_

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry stumbled, clutched his stomach and struggled to stay on his feet, willing the slight dizziness and nausea away. It hardly did him any good, but he did manage not to fall to his knees and make a complete fool of himself. He held no fondness for portkeys and their adverse affects on him. He briefly wondered if he was allergic to them or if the nausea was a normal side effect of feeling like something just hooked your stomach and gave it a good yank.

"Hello Harry Potter," A dark voice broke into Harry's rather jumbled thoughts. He whirled around, his stomach up heaving slightly from the motion and aftereffects of the trip – he truly hated portkeys – and nearly lost the contents of his stomach anyways. His eyes widened behind his glasses, and the grip on his wand tightened.

The man before him was his father.

Harry blinked rapidly for a moment, knowing that it wasn't possible, that his father was long dead. Taking a closer look at the darkly dressed man he realized that it wasn't his father, that he didn't look quite like James Potter had and a little more like Sirius might have looked if he hadn't wasted half away in Azkaban.

In fact, the man before him looked far more like an older version of himself, green eyes, scar and all. Although, the scar did have some differences, namely that it continued down over the man's brow and cheek to taper off somewhere by his jaw line, intersecting his eye along the way. The man's hair was the same shade of brownish-black, with two streaks of grey at his temples, making him look older than he probably was, and was pulled into a tie at the back of his neck. Harry couldn't see how long it was.

"Who…" Harry tried, swallowed then spoke again, "Who are you?" he was glad that his voice came out sounding at least a little surer of himself than he felt.

The man who looked so much like him smiled slightly, or rather his lips quirked subtly and his eyes held hints of amusement, but otherwise his face was as stoic as when Harry first saw him.

"I am you," he said, his voice soft yet incredibly powerful. Harry's eyes widened even further then narrowed suddenly.

"That's not possible," Harry said, raising his wand to point squarely at the stranger in front of him. A stranger wearing a face eerily similar to his own. It had to be polyjuice or something. Except the man was clearly older than him. Harry didn't know if polyjuice would affect the age, but he rather thought that it did. And the scar was different.

"Why not?" The hint of amusement was back. Harry clenched his teeth. It had to be some sort of trick. Somehow Voldemort and his Death Eaters had managed to trick a portkey into his hands. It had happened before after all.

"Because you can't be me," Harry said, quite logically.

The man raised one thin eyebrow, his eyes still amused, though he still didn't smile.

"Because you are you, and therefore I cannot be you."

Harry blinked, momentarily surprised, not at the words so much, but that such a man would say them.

"Do you know where you are?" the man asked, his amusement fading into calm detachment. Harry started slightly at the sudden change in topic, but let it slide. At least the man had stopped trying to claim to be him.

"Wherever that blasted portkey you slipped to me took me," Harry said a bit hotly.

"Look around, Harry Potter."

Harry did, though he kept a watchful eye out on the stranger with him. They were in the middle of what looked to be a park, a Muggle park, the one at the end of Privet Drive to be exact.

And they were alone.

"It wasn't a portkey," the man said. Harry's eyes shot back to him, still more than a little unnerved at the uncanny resemblance between them.

"It felt like one," Harry said.

"Yes, I know."

"Then what was it, oh wise Death Eater?" Harry asked, his sarcasm breaking through.

The man again raised one eyebrow at him, though his eyes were noticeably absent of any amusement whatsoever. Harry squared his shoulders and gripped his wand tighter, sensing that he may have pushed the stranger into a fight.

"I do not, never have been, and never intend to, serve Voldemort," the man said intensely.

Harry stepped back out of reflex – his survival instincts screaming at him to get as far away from the man as possible. The dark stranger had yet to move a muscle more than his subtle facial expressions, and while he wasn't overly large, Harry could all but taste the magic rolling off of him in a steady thick wave.

A magic that felt invitingly familiar at the same time as being ominously dangerous. It unnerved and scared Harry, feeling drawn to the man all the while his logic told him that he was likely aligned with Voldemort, even if he didn't bear the mark.

But the man had said the Dark Lord's name. No Death Eater had yet to do so otherwise.

"But I doubt you would believe me so easily," the man said, all traces of his quick ire gone, replaced with absent amusement.

Harry blinked at the sudden change, taking another step backwards and raising his wand from where it had dipped in his lapse of attention.

"It was a crossing of the boundaries," the man continued.

"The boundaries of what?"

"Of the worlds, of time, of space. I'm not entirely sure."

"Of the worlds?" Harry said, skeptical of the man's words. "Like what, some sort of alternate reality or warped sense of time?"

"Possibly."

"What a load of rubbish," Harry snarled, glancing around the area quickly, wondering, not for the first time, how exactly he had managed to touch a portkey without realizing it, and in the middle of the Hogwarts Express.

"Perhaps," the man said, his voice completely neutral. "And yet you've had experience with the workings of a timeturner."

Harry looked back at him. There was no way that the man could know that.

"And of an old memory locked within a diary," the man continued, "of a veil that sends souls to death, and a prophecy that has dictated the course of your life since before you were born."

Harry stared. It was possible for someone to find out about one or maybe two of those events, but to know them all was something Harry couldn't quite deal with, especially the prophecy.

"How…"

"Because," the man said his eyes amused again, "I am you."

"Stop saying that!" Harry yelled.

The man remained silent, watching him unblinkingly from his position a few paces away. Harry took a deep breath to regain his composure, trying to settle his nerves and his temper. It wouldn't do to get in a fight with someone he couldn't match up to, especially in a Muggle place such as Privet Drive.

"Why isn't the crossing of the boundaries possible?" the man said softly. "In the world of magic anything is possible. The only restriction is your own mind."

Harry shook his head, determined not to let the man sway him, to gain more of an upper hand.

"I cannot say how you came here, but I do know that you are not the first to arrive in this world in the manner which you did."

"Why?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowed on the man.

"Pardon?"

"Why me? Why here?"

"I do not know."

"Oh, well that's rich!" Harry snapped, his temper getting the better of him again. "Real believable, old chap."

"Believe what you will."

Harry eyed the man warily. He was more confusing than threatening at the moment, though he wouldn't soon forget the power he had felt from him. The man had yet to make any move against him, physical or otherwise. All he did was talk.

"Then why are you here?" Harry asked, trying to catch the man in his tale.

"Because I felt your arrival."

"How?"

"Magic I'd assume," the man said a bit wryly. "And no, I do not know why, beyond that you are my counterpart in some other reality or time, and thus I am drawn to you."

Harry blinked and snapped his mouth closed on the question.

"Then I suppose you're going to tell me that your name is Harry Potter?" Harry asked.

"That is the name my parents gave to me, though I do not go by it now."

"Why not?"

"Because it would be rather odd to have multiple Harry Potters running around in one world," he said, amused.

Harry glowered at him, feeling rather like he was being teased and not liking it.

"I am called Liam."

"Liam?"

"Yes. Liam-Ri Breasal."

"You said multiples," Harry stated bluntly.

"Yes. There are currently three Harry Potters in this world including you and me," Liam said.

Harry stared at him in disbelief. "You honestly expect me to believe all that?"

"Not particularly."

Harry was taken aback by that, he had expected a more affirmative answer from the man, as if he was expected to believe everything some stranger was dishing out to him.

"Then why are you older?" Harry asked a bit shrewdly.

"I do not know the why's or the how's of this situation," Liam said, "I simply know what is."

"Fat load of good that is," Harry mumbled, not a little disgruntled.

"Indeed."

Harry flinched slightly, he hadn't meant for the man to hear him.

"So where's number three?" Harry asked, feeling a bit like a petulant child, but not sure why.

"Currently at my manor, no doubt asleep, considering the time," came the wry reply.

Harry looked around him again, finally noticing that it was sometime in the late evening, and was likely somewhere past nine.

"So what, are you collecting us all up for some diabolical plan?" Harry quipped at him sourly.

Harry got another raised eyebrow for his efforts, and he tried to look a little contrite for his words, though he wasn't sure that he pulled it off too well.

"He's ten," Liam said.

Harry's eyes shot over to the older man in slight surprise.

"I wasn't about to leave him with the Dursley's," Liam's voice didn't change an ounce in volume or pitch, but Harry clearly heard the note of mixed aversion and anguish at the Dursley's name.

It was this more than anything else that caused Harry to seriously consider the man's words.

While a Death Eater may hate and loath a Muggle, none would feel any sort of distress directed toward the less magically inclined, especially with the caliber of the Dursley's. And Harry had never truly told anyone about the treatment received from his family's hands.

Harry took another look at the stoic man before him. Liam certainly looked like him, though there were also startling differences. Past the scar, the first noticeable thing was the age gap. The man was clearly past any resemblance to a teenager, and if it wasn't for the grey in his hair Harry would place him in the lower twenties. The very stance and look of him was also decidedly different. Harry was reminded of an odd mixing between Snape and Moody, with perhaps a bit of Shaklebolt thrown in for good measure. Liam was clearly a fighter, and one who looked to be used to winning his battles.

It was his eyes that really struck Harry. Both had the vivid green eyes of Lily, but Liam's were a little more varied. They were ringed in near black, and lightened to almost a golden hue around the iris. They were disconcerting and yet captivating.

Then it couldn't be polyjuice. Liam's eyes would have changed to match Harry's uniform green shade, rather than the ringed hues the man's eyes displayed.

"Why do you look so different?" Harry finally asked.

"I have endured things that you have not."

Harry huffed in annoyance with the ambiguous answer. "Just like Dumbledore," He grumbled under his breath. He was so tired of not being told things properly.

The man actually laughed. Harry stared. It wasn't so much a laugh as a deep rumbling chuckle that could have been mistaken for a growl if not for the clear amusement in his eyes.

"I went through a few rituals that altered my physical and magical make up," Liam said, eyes still showing his amusement. "Rituals that you would have no access to, partially due to your age, but mostly due to the restrictions placed upon you by your 'guardians', as such."

"Oh," Harry couldn't quite think of anything else to say to that. He was slightly uneasy about the idea of rituals, they made him think of Voldemort and the Dark Lord's obsession with immortality.

"They did not extend my life," Liam said, seemingly reading his mind. "Not strictly speaking at any rate. Their purpose was far different than personal power and longevity."

"What were they for?" Harry asked.

Liam studied him for a moment, his face as impassive as ever, before seeming to come to a conclusion.

"They were a sort of magical adoption ritual," the man said slowly, as if measuring his words, "More than that I don't care to say here or now."

Harry blinked and glanced around him, remembering that they were standing in the middle of a very public park. He was a bit more settled though with Liam's words. He knew what it was like to long for a parental figure. He knew nothing on magical adoptions, but the inclusion of an individual into a family couldn't be a bad thing, magical or otherwise.

"So this is your world, or reality or whatever?" Harry asked.

"I came here like you."

"So…" Harry trailed off, looking around him searchingly though he wasn't sure what he sought exactly.

"It is the year 1991," Liam said. "July. The Harry Potter of this world will soon be eleven."

Harry took in a deep breath and stared around him wide-eyed. He couldn't help but believe Liam, even though he had wanted nothing of the sort not ten minutes prior. He couldn't help himself. The man felt irrevocably familiar, and Harry trusted him despite his mind screaming at him for his easy Gryffindor trust.

"I arrived in much the same manner as you did," Liam said, looking around the park absently. It was the first time that he had taken his eyes off of Harry.

"How long have you been here?" Harry asked, watching the older man in a mixture of curiosity and lingering wariness.

"About six years ago.

"Six…"

Liam nodded.

"What was your world like, then?"

Liam's eyes returned to focus on him, and Harry restrained the urge to fidget slightly. The man watched him silently for a moment, his eyes dark and clouded. Harry had no idea what he was thinking or feeling.

"Different," Liam said at length. Harry didn't press the issue. He knew when someone didn't want to talk about a subject; he used the same sort of body language often enough himself.

"So…now what?" Harry asked, forcing himself past the sudden feelings of nervousness.

"Chalet Havens," Liam said in a distinctly French accent.

Harry blinked. "Excuse me?"

"My manor, the Chalet Havens."

Harry swallowed nervously, eyeing the man a bit warily still. While he was pretty sure that Liam wasn't about to throw a hex at him, he still didn't completely trust him. After all, Harry had trusted 'Moody' in fourth year and that had led to nothing good in the end.

"Your caution will serve you well," Liam commented.

"It was hard earned," Harry said darkly.

Liam didn't say anything, though his eyes darkened slightly with some unnamed emotion.

"Where is it?" Harry asked.

"The Chalet?"

Harry nodded.

"Somewhere in southern England," Liam said, waving his hand slightly. "Wales, I believe, but it's been unplottable for centuries. No one recalls what county it was built in."

Harry took a deep breath and decided to plunge ahead. "Alright, how are we going?"

"Apparation."

"What? But I don't know how…" Harry was cut off by the man's sudden motion. Liam moved far quicker than he thought humanly possible. One minute the man was standing several meters away and the next he had Harry's shoulder in a firm grip, looking as if he hadn't even moved.

Then the world tilted.

It wasn't like flooing or even remotely like a portkey. Harry felt like he was falling over in one direction while the world twirled around him on a completely different axle. It was extremely bewildering, and Harry was sure he would loose his lunch, just as soon as he could breath again.

As suddenly as it started it stopped.

The firm grip on his shoulder disappeared and Harry's legs folded up underneath him. His head was still spinning and his stomach felt like it was trying to tilt with his vision in the other direction.

"I don't think I much care for Apparation," Harry mumbled, surprised that he could make his tongue work in sync with his lungs and lips.

He heard a small chuckle from somewhere above him and he frowned, but couldn't really bring himself to do much else.

"I do believe that I agree with you," Liam's voice floated down on him. "Though it gets better after the first time."

"Actually, I don't much like any mode of Wizarding transportation," Harry said a bit thoughtfully, finally managing to sit back on his heels.

Liam didn't say anything, though Harry was sure that the man was silently laughing at him.

"Wizards," Harry grumbled darkly.

Liam chuckled again and Harry felt a hand pull him to his feet. It took a moment for him to regain his balance, though his stomach insisted on being difficult. He raised his eyes to find Liam looking back at him with the same mask of neutral indifference, but Harry couldn't miss the amusement in the man's eyes.

"You could have warned me," Harry grumped, not at all pleased.

"Perhaps."

Harry scowled at the taller man, which only served to gain him a slight twitch of the lips.

Liam gestured over his shoulder and Harry turned around.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Author's Note:** After writing, rewriting and rewriting again, this chapter, I'm still worried that everyone will think that Harry began to trust Liam a bit too quickly. I tried to portray that Harry _felt_ like he could trust him more than he _thought_ he could trust him. Which is a bit of a difference, and slightly more difficult to convey in writing than I originally thought… Regardless, Harry decided to take a bit of a leap and go with the guy. Think it was a bad idea?

Liam-Ri Breasal is Irish and is pronounced something like: LEE-am-REE BRAY-sall. Liam for short.


	14. Riddle Me This 04

**Author's Note:** Another installment of the Riddle Me This AU world.

**Disclaimer:** Hmm…come on! You know they aren't mine.

'_telepathy or mind-to-mind.'_

ss,parseltongue,ss

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Riddle Me This 04**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

Croy wasn't at home at the end of the summer that Harry got his Hogwarts letter, the day of Harry's eleventh birthday. He had taken a job that held some urgency, and was eyeing the size of a rather vexed dragon hovering over a small clutch of eggs the moment that the Boy-Who-Lived finally got his letter. Croy heard all about it when he returned, but only allowed a small thought of the boy while he faced down a peeved Welsh Green.

While not as violently vicious as the Hungarian Horntail, an overprotective mother dragon was certainly something to avoid if one could. The problem was that the Welsh mare had decided to lay her clutch in the middle of Stonehenge.

Croy couldn't for the life of him figure out the dragon's reasoning in this location, it was nearly constantly swarmed with people, and only the night time offered any amount of opportunity for a dragon to swoop in to lay eggs. He would have thought that the creature would be a bit more picky about her locales.

"This should be fun." A red-headed wizard said from his side. Croy glanced over to the Weasley, finding the young man smirking up at the hackled dragon. If Clay didn't know any better, he would have sworn that Charlie Weasley was actually serious about the fun part. Barely out of Hogwarts, the second Weasley son was youthfully excited about the prospect of Dragon Handling and the joys that came with it. Croy thought the boy slightly mad.

_'You should have left me at home.'_ Riddle said shortly.

"Then go home." Croy replied softly. The raven puffed up its feathers indignantly, digging his talons into his shoulder painfully.

"Pardon?" Charlie asked, turning to him. Croy shook his head, and pointed to the bird perched on his shoulder, "Just talking to the fur-ball."

Charlie barked out a laugh, and Croy ignored the insults rolling into his mind from the bird. It continually irked him that no one else ever heard a word of the raven's speech. Only Croy could hear the telepathic words of the once Dark Lord. The second irritating point was that Croy could not speak telepathically back. He had to speak aloud in order for Riddle to hear him. It made for some interesting conversations, especially if anyone was around to hear Croy seemingly talking to himself.

"How are the boys?" Charlie asked. "Laurie is what, three now?"

"Four, actually." Croy said, thinking of his son. "Though I swear he's still in his terrible twos, the way he acts most of the time. Sirius is a bad influence on him."

Charlie laughed, and Croy glanced over at him with a smile. Sirius had made it his life's ambition to teach Harry and Laurence all he knew about being a Marauder, and the two boys had taken to his lessons like fish in water. Croy was generally amused by it all, having always appreciated a good prank even though he rarely participated in them. His wife, on the other hand, seemed to expect a slightly more refined behavior from the boys, especially Sirius. Croy doubted that Emmeline would ever manage to bring Sirius in line, but he figured that Harry and Laurie's manners might still be salvageable.

"Let's go!" a stocky older wizard called. Charlie trotted over to him, his wand already in his hand. Croy followed at a more sedate pace, falling in behind the half a dozen other wizards – and one witch – his wand held loosely in his left hand as he leaned on the cane to his right. He ignored the skeptical looks the others gave him. Few ever believed that he could do anything useful with a cane in his hand. Croy rarely bothered to voice the truth of the matter, and let his actions speak for him. The mangled leg and cane rarely stopped him from accomplishing whatever mission he faced. He could fight a Dark Lord with it, he could face an irritated dragon without any trouble.

"Liam Croyus, right?" the stocky wizard asked, eyeing Croy's cane. Croy nodded. "You come highly recommended, Dumbledore said you have faced a dragon before. Is that truth?"

Croy nodded again. "Three young Welsh's flew into the Hogwarts grounds last spring, we had to re-route them from staking out their territory in the middle of the Quidditch pitch."

The man chuckled. "I'm Marcus Leland." He introduced himself, not bothering to offer his hand while he kept one wary eye on the dragon in the middle of the ring of stones. "Think you could distract her while we net her and the eggs?"

Croy nodded and tapped his wand against his cane three times. The cane morphed and turned into a sleek looking broom. It was one of Croy's more useful tricks. It took him years to get the two objects to interlink with each other.

Charlie grinned at the broom, having seen that trick before. Croy took off into the air, Riddle flying in a distant circle around the area. While an angry dragon may be a challenge to face, a group of Dragon Handlers facing a single Welsh Green, even with a clutch, would be an easy task, no matter Croy's unofficial status as a Handler and the presence of their newest Apprentice, the young Weasley.

oooOoooOoooOooo

"What's left on the list?" Croy asked, leaning on his cane and looking over Harry's shoulder at the length of parchment.

"A wand, and a pet." Harry said, folding the paper back up and slipping it into his jeans pocket. Croy nodded and pointed to the Magical Menagerie across the street from them with the length of his cane. Harry smiled up at him and headed in that direction. Croy followed the boy, now eleven and going to Hogwarts, into the animal shop. He almost couldn't believe that Harry was already of the age for Hogwarts. It had gone so fast.

"Do I have to choose between the three listed?" Harry asked.

"It is the rules." Croy said, glancing around the shop. "We already have an owl. Hedwig will deliver letters for you while you are at school. So you can have a rat or a toad."

Harry scowled at him, and Croy smirked back, knowing that Harry didn't have any particular fondness for either type of creature. While Croy wouldn't straight out and say it, he would personally let the boy choose which type of familiar he wanted, no matter its species. He rather figured that Harry knew that, which was why he let the boy browse through the shop on his own while he waited near the door and ignored Riddle's attempts at conversation.

Harry returned with a grin on his face and holding a small green lizard in his hand. Croy raised an eyebrow at the reptile, and shook his head slightly as he pulled a few galleons from the money pouch on his belt. Harry's grin got wider as he took the galleons to the clerk and paid for his new familiar.

Croy led Harry out of the Menagerie, eyeing the little lizard curled up beneath the boy's collar with minor amusement. The clerk hadn't been sure, but suspected that the lizard, while largely Mundane, had some magical aspects to it. Watching it change colors slightly to blend in with Harry's shirt color, Croy had to agree.

"What will you name him?" Croy asked as they made their way down the alley towards the Wandmaker's.

"I'm not sure, what do you think?"

Croy shrugged with one shoulder, as was his habit, "He changes color, did you know?"

"Really?" Harry asked, turning his head and trying to spot the small lizard on his shoulder. "What color is he now?"

"The same color as your shirt."

"Heh. Wicked." Harry said, petting the lizard and giving up trying to see it.

"What about Spas?" Harry asked.

"Spas?"

"Yeah, like Sir Spasdosas Dell."

"The spell crafter?" Croy asked, having heard about the man from Harry on more than one occasion. Harry had found a biography on the man and had become incredibly intrigued by him and his work.

"Yeah!" Harry said, "I'll call him Sir Spasdosas, or just Spas for short."

"Sounds like it'll fit." Croy said eying the lizard as he held the door open to Ollivander's for Harry.

"Will the Headmaster let me keep him at the school?" Harry asked a bit worriedly.

"I'm sure we can work something out with Albus." Croy said. "He lets me bring Riddle into the school, after all."

_'I heard that.'_ Riddle snapped. Croy didn't respond to the telepathic bird, instead eyeing the old man hovering behind the door, and inching his way closer to Harry's back. Croy turned to face the old man straight on, causing Ollivander to stop rather suddenly and stare back at him. Croy smothered the urge to raise an eyebrow at him.

"Mr. Ollivander." Croy said, hearing the mixed Russian and British accents taint his voice. The accent had become second nature to him. He didn't even think of it anymore, hadn't for years. He even still swore in Russian, much to Sirius' amusement.

"Good morning, Mr. Croyus." Ollivander said, "Ashwood and Augurey feather, ten and a quarter inches." Croy gave the man a nod, feeling the length of gray wood in his pocket. "A most unusual wand." Ollivander commented, his eyes narrowed at him. Croy didn't respond. Ollivander made the same comment every time they saw each other since Croy had bought the wand from the man ten years ago. He was somewhat intrigued that Ollivander had never brought out the Holly and Pheonix feather wand for him to try, but the Ashwood wand had suited him well, and Croy was pleased with it.

"You keep it in good condition, I hope." Ollivander said, eyeing Harry as the boy turned on his heel to take in the sneaky wizard.

"Of course." Croy said.

Ollivander nodded curtly then looked down the length of him with an intent eye. "You do realize that your robes are singed."

Croy sighed, and glanced down at his charred robes. He was pretty sure that he could still smell the ash and smoke from the dragon's fire that had nearly taken him off his broom. As it was he got away with a good length of his robes burned into ash. "Got a little close to a nesting dragon this morning, I'm afraid."

Ollivander watched him a moment more, and Croy was sure the old man was amused, though it was hard to tell. Ollivander turned suddenly to Harry, causing the boy to start a bit at the sudden attention.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, not chasing the alley strays today I see."

Harry flushed slightly, remembering the occasion quite clearly. So did Croy, who was fighting his amusement fiercely. Harry had been nearly ten at the time, and with them living in a flat above Diagon Alley, it was inevitable that they all were in the alley itself often. Most of the shopkeepers knew the family quite well, and Harry had a reputation for chasing a scruffy looking hound down the length of the alley and back while on his bicycle – only because Croy wouldn't let the boy fly his broom in the alleys.

Of course the 'stray' Ollivander mentioned was in actuality Sirius in his animagus form. Ollivander had nearly been bowled over by the two the summer before, and Sirius had at some point ended up crashing into three tables at Fortesque's Ice Cream Parlour. Croy still had no idea how his godfather had managed it. Fortesque's was across the street from Ollivander's and nearly a block away.

"We left the stray at home." Croy said with a small smirk. "Harry needs his wand, Mr. Ollivander, if you'd please. We have a birthday to celebrate tonight."

"Happy birthday, Mr. Potter." Ollivander said as he nodded curtly to Croy.

"Thank you, sir." Harry replied.

Croy watched with minor interest as Harry suffered through the measuring, slightly amused by the cross-eyed look the boy had as he tried to focus on the tape measure stretched across the bridge of his nose. As soon as the tape fell to the floor in a heap, Harry eyed it warily and pushed his glasses back up where they belonged.

The wand choosing process was much the same as Croy remembered his own being – both times. He had dug the old memory out the depths of his mind the day prior, curious about the first timeline's handling of the event. He hadn't thought of his first few years at Hogwarts in a long time, letting the faded, distant memories sit buried in the fog that covered his other life.

He could pull them out when he sought them now, yet they were not readily accessible to him in his everyday tasks. He had to meditate to find them and dig them into his consciousness, then fight the tide as the rest of them tried to surface. It was most peculiar, not being able to readily remember his childhood, the first twenty-seven years of his life. In some ways it was like it was someone else's life, yet he knew it to be his own.

Harry waved a wand, eliciting a fall of golden sparks, bringing Croy out of his musings.

"Holly and phoenix feather," Ollivander said, eyeing Harry speculatively, "Curious, most curious."

"What's curious?" Harry asked.

"Hmm." Ollivander said, shaking his head and taking a step away from them. "Ask your uncle, child."

Croy was surprised at the response. He had not expected the man to direct Harry to another source, not answering the curious question. Harry looked between Ollivander and Croy, slightly confused, before settling on his uncle. Croy pulled his narrowed gaze away from the irritating wand-maker and met Harry's eyes.

"Mr. Ollivander, which phoenix donated the feather within that wand?" Croy asked, eyeing the familiar wand in the boy's hand.

"I do believe that it is the Headmaster's familiar at the moment." Ollivander said, turning away from them and beginning to stack the boxes of rejected wands. Croy watched the man for a moment before sighing and pulling out the galleons for the wand. He left them on the counter as the man disappeared into the shelving and ushered Harry out the door into the alley.

"Uncle Liam, what did he mean?" Harry asked, sticking his new wand in his back pocket.

"I'll tell you when we get home." Croy said, limping alongside his counterpart back to their flat. It was past time that Harry was told more; about the prophesy, about Croy's past life. Croy recalled a long ago conversation with his Headmaster when Croy was finally told of the prophesy, that Albus had cared for him too much, that he hadn't wanted to take his childhood from him, that he had already gone through so much and Albus didn't want to add to his burdens. Croy remembered the anger he had had at the long delay in the knowledge of the prophesy. He remembered the years of wondering if knowing sooner would have changed things, saved more lives, killed Voldemort faster.

Croy did not wish to live vicariously through Harry, but he did not want to repeat old mistakes. He and Sirius had decided years ago that eleven would be a good age for some of the heavier information. It was information that Harry should know going into Hogwarts, no matter that one of his uncles would be there with him.

oooOoooOoooOooo

The twenty-third of August dawned chilly and the alleys were covered in an early fog. Croy sat in his usual chair on the balcony off the flat's living room, watching the sun rise over London's skyline through the slowly dispersing fog. The flat's other residents were still asleep, though Croy knew that Emmeline would rise soon, her stomach calling for food to nourish her and the growing child within her. Croy would have to rearrange some of the flat's rooms to make space for the new addition to their family before winter. He was considering finishing the third floor attic space for Harry. The boy would likely appreciate the large space for himself, even if he would only inhabit it through the summers.

"Morning, Liam." His wife said, coming to stand behind him on the balcony. Emmeline dropped a kiss on his cheek as he smiled up at her.

"Morning." He said, eying the loose house robe over her nightdress that barely disguised her growing belly.

"Augusta wanted us at the manor by one, remember." She said, returning to the flat.

"I remember." He said, following his wife. "Sirius is taking Harry out this morning to buy him a new broom."

"I don't know why," Emmeline said, "He can't take it with him to Hogwarts."

"You never know." Croy said, "Maybe he'll make the team."

Emmeline gave him a look, and he held his hands up in surrender. "First years are not allowed to fly for the school teams." She said, "No matter that they're a celebrity or not."

"Yes I know." Croy said, not bothering to contradict her. She was correct, the school rules clearly stated that the first years were not allowed to bring a broom, nor try out for their house teams. Despite Croy's vague memories about his own first year at Hogwarts, he knew that Harry's may turn out to be very different. And as one of the boy's guardians, he felt a certain bit of protectiveness that made him hesitant to allow Harry to even try to fly for the school team. Croy knew how dangerous Quidditch could be, especially with the way he flew.

"You better get the boys up, Liam." Emmeline said as she pulled out bread and tea for breakfast. "Sirius and Harry should get an early start else they'll never make the party on time."

The morning passed quickly for the household, and with Sirius and Harry out, and Emmeline giving Laurence reading lessons, Croy was able to work on his lesson plans for his classes. By the time Sirius and Harry returned near one o' clock with a shiny new Nimbus 2000 broomstick, Laurence and Croy had begun a game of exploding snap in the living room with Regulus prompting Laurence through the game.

Emmeline ushered them all into the fireplace shortly after, giving each of the guys a thorough inspection of their clothing and attempting to make Harry's hair lay flat. Sirius apparated with Laurence first, and as they disappeared, Croy pulled Emmeline and Harry close to him. Riddle was perched on his shoulder, digging his claws into his skin.

"Don't you dare flood my kitchen while we're gone, Regulus." Emmeline warned the ghost floating in the corner. Regulus simply smirked at her behind his skull mask and floated up through the ceiling. Emmeline scowled after the ghost, and turned to Croy.

"Really, Croy." Emmeline said. "I am perfectly able to apparate on my own."

"Emma, love." He said, wrapping his arm around her, "You are five months pregnant. Molly specifically said that after five months you should not apparate by your own powers."

Emmeline looked at him with some defiance. She didn't like the safety restrictions suggested by their midwife. Molly was admittedly a bit cautious, but Croy was just fine with being a little overprotective of his wife and unborn child, even if Emmeline chafed a bit against their care.

Emmeline sighed and wrapped her arms around his stomach, not deigning to respond verbally. Croy smiled at her, gripped Harry's shoulder, and apparated them all out of the flat.

They appeared in the large receiving room of the Longbottom's family manor, with Sirius and Laurence waiting for them at the doorway. Croy glanced around at the opulence displayed in the marble and carved woodwork of the room, reminded somewhat of the Potter's manor in Godric's Hollow. While they didn't use the manor, Croy and Sirius had spent quite a lot of time repairing the damages done to it.

Croy spotted Augusta Longbottom standing in the middle, equally capable of greeting her guests from either the apparation point or the large fireplace on the opposite wall. Augusta looked the three over with some surprise before settling her eyes on Harry.

"Oh good, you're here." Augusta said. "Neville is in his room." She said, looking at the boy pointedly. Harry got the hint and left the receiving room with a nod at the older woman. Croy shook his head slightly, bemused at Augusta's actions before turning to the woman with all courtesy, taking her hand and bowing over it with a murmured greeting.

Augusta smiled at him with approval, and turned to Emmeline. "Mrs. Croyus-Black," she said with a nod, "Welcome again to my home."

"Thank you, Mrs. Longbottom." Emmeline said, perfectly comfortable with the noble traditions of high Wizarding society, "I am honored by your invitation."

Augusta nodded at them again and led them from the room. Sirius and Laurence joined them, and they all headed towards the grand hall. Augusta left them there, returning to the receiving room, no doubt to properly welcome the rest of her guests.

Croy paused in the doorway as a smartly dressed house elf announced their arrival. Heads turned to peer at them, and Croy took the time to identify those he knew. It was surprisingly many, and half of those in the room made him distinctly uncomfortable. With Voldemort's many years absence, most of the higher society had returned to their social traditions, and leaving out a family at such an important gala as the one Augusta was hosting was considered quite the insult, no matter their alliances.

Croy escorted Emmeline on his left, limping slightly with the use of his cane and Riddle's weight on his shoulder. Laurence stuck to Sirius' side, the both of them muffling their laughter at whatever nonsense Sirius was whispering to the boy. Croy kept only half an eye on his son, more to make sure the boy behaved than concerned for his safety. He knew that Sirius would protect him if the need arose, and Croy also knew that Sirius, while appearing nonchalant and unconcerned, had noticed the Death Eater families amongst the crowded hall.

Croy let Emmeline subtly guide them into the hall, spotting her father and sister nearby. Lord Nolan was dressed smartly, his red robes trimmed with grey colored celtic knotwork. His youngest daughter, Nanette was by his side, dressed similarly, though with white lacework up her chest and around her sleeves. They made an impressive pair, though they were hardly the most extravagant amongst the hall full of nobles.

"Emmeline, dear, how are you?" Nolan asked, greeting his daughter with a kiss on her cheek.

Emmeline returned it with a smile, "Well father, and you?"

oooOoooOoooOooo

**A/N:** And another scene I'm not particularly in the mood to write out…

( Enter confrontation with the Malfoy's. Esp. Harry, Neville & Draco. )

oooOoooOoooOooo

Sirius took the morning off from his job in the Ministry's Auror Department to see Harry and Croy off to Hogwarts. Emmeline and Laurence joined them as well. Sirius had Laurie on his back, the boy's arms circling his neck tightly as Sirius bounded through the train station, sending the four-year-old into peels of laughter. Croy escorted Emmeline behind Sirius and Harry, her arm linked through his own. He left his left side open, only holding his cane loosely in his hand, wary of their surroundings so that he could draw his wand quickly if it would be needed. His instincts were harder to suppress than his memories.

"Well, Harry," Sirius started, throwing an arm around the boy, and talking through Laurie's laughing. "Ready for the sorting? You know you have to wrestle a troll, right?"

Harry threw Sirius's arm off his shoulder, giving the man a look. "I do not. Bill and Charlie may be able to trick Ron and Neville into that for a while, but I know that no troll is involved, thanks."

"Ah. You sure about that?" Sirius said, winking at the boy.

"Yes." Harry said shortly.

"You may not have to wrestle a troll for the sorting," Croy said nonchalantly, "But it is on the first year's final exams for Defense."

Harry paused, staring at him as they continued walking towards the platform. Croy glanced back at him, hiding his smirk and looking at the boy with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"It isn't." Harry said, jogging to catch up to them, pushing the trolly with his trunk ahead of him. Croy simply looked at him, his face carefully blank. "Is it?"

"Liam!" Emmeline scolded, smacking his arm. Croy gave her a sheepish look. Harry stared at him a moment before glaring at him.

"There's no troll!" he said, his green eyes narrowed. Croy just shrugged, smiling at the boy, and then laughing as Sirius looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

"Did you just pull a prank?" Sirius asked, staring at him. "You did! You pranked him! I'm so proud of you!" Sirius jumped over to him, dislodging Emmeline from his arm and engulfing him in a rough hug. Laurence squealed at the motions, his arms squeezing Sirius's neck and shoulders. Croy stumbled slightly at the sudden movement, snarling silently at the man.

"Get off." Croy said, hitting Sirius's knee with his cane. His godfather jumped away from him as quickly as he had jumped towards him, nursing one leg and giving Croy hurt looks. Croy ignored him, taking his wife's arm again and keeping one eye on the man.

"She's expecting, you klutz." Croy growled at him. Sirius stuck his tongue out at him, prompting Laurence to do the same. Croy sighed, rolling his eyes at the two as they laughed at him, thinking how they were both likely lost causes. He just hoped he'd have enough time to save his son from his godfather's idea of fun.

"My apologies, my dear Lady." Sirius said, bowing before her at his waist. Laurie giggled as he started to slide towards the ground. Sirius quickly stood upright again, catching the child from falling.

Emmeline shook her head at him and waved him away, chuckling lightly as she placed her hand over the bulge of her stomach.

"You're worse than Sirius." Harry grumbled at him. "People expect Sirius to pull a prank."

Croy laughed, watching as Sirius started whispering at Laurie and giving Croy a look that promised revenge. Croy shook his head at him.

"Don't corrupt my son." Emmeline warned. Sirius gave her an innocent look, that really just made him look more suspicious, and slipped through the barrier with a jaunty little wave.

Croy watched the two disappear and then nodded to Harry. Harry pushed his cart and trunk toward the wall, and disappeared as he walked through the barrier to Platform nine and three quarters.

"Shall we, my dear?" Croy asked, gesturing in the general direction of the barrier. Emmeline nodded imperiously and Croy walked them both onto the platform smiling at her.

The platform was crowded with people; parents and families and Hogwarts students already in their school robes, some even with the pointy black hat on their heads. The cacophony of sounds and conversation rolled over the platform, only slightly muffled by the thin fog of the morning. Sirius and Laurie were guiding Harry towards the Hogwarts Express, dodging around the milling crowds dramatically, causing no few parents – and students – to glare after them in disapproval. Croy could hear Laurie's cries of glee, even as they three troublemakers got farther away.

"I'm beginning to think it may be rather hopeless." Croy said, watching as Sirius narrowly missed running over a first year, causing Harry to nearly crash into the man with the trolly.

"I'm still holding out hope." Emmeline said with a sigh. "There is still the option of locking Sirius away in a dark closet where he can't corrupt my sons any further."

Croy looked down at her with some amusement, noticing, not for the first time, that Emmeline had claimed Harry as her own. Croy had recalled the first time she had called Harry her son in front of the boy, startling both Harry and Croy with her fierce protectiveness. Harry took it all in stride, used as he was to having loving parental figures, but Croy treasured his wife and her claim to them all.

"Croy, Emma, dears," a voice called to them. Croy paused and turned, finding Mrs. Weasley's arms suddenly around him. "It is good to see you."

"Hello, Molly." Croy said, returning the hug. Molly patted him on the shoulder and turned her attention to Emmeline, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her rounded belly.

"Emma, dear, how are you?" Molly asked, pulling the woman in to a gentle hug.

"I'm doing fine, Molly." Emmeline said, "A bit more tired, but that's to be expected."

"How many more months, Emma?" Arthur asked, coming up behind his wife, Ginny clinging to his side and looking around in interest. None of the other Weasley children were in sight, no doubt already aboard the train.

"Oh, only three now." Emmeline said.

"Have you chosen a name, yet?" Molly asked.

"We've thought about it some, yes." Emmeline said, smiling over at Croy, then back to the Weasleys, "We've only recently learned that we have a few more names to decide on than we thought."

"Oh?" Molly looked at her, holding her at arms length, her brown eyes alight with knowing happiness. "Really?"

"Twins." Emmeline said, grinning. "A boy and a girl."

"Congratulations, dear!" Molly beamed, pulling her into another hug, and resting a hand on Emmeline's round stomach. Croy just took in a deep breath, still reeling a bit from the information. They had known of the twins for a few days, but he still had a hard time fully grasping it all.

"Congratulations, Liam." Arthur said, clasping Croy's shoulder in a firm hold.

Croy nodded at him. "Thanks, Arthur."

"Two at a time isn't quite so bad." Arthur said with a smile and wink. Croy raised an eyebrow at him, thinking of the Weasley twins and their continued antics. He wasn't entirely comforted by hearing such a line from Arthur Weasley.

"Hi, Ginny." Croy greeted the girl.

Ginny smiled brightly at him, "Hello Mr. Croyus."

Croy heard a familiar squeal, and looked up in time to see Sirius bounding through the crowds with Laurie clutching at his neck.

"Daddy!" Laurie called, laughing as Sirius made to run into them all before changing course at the last minute, dodging around them all and causing the boy on his back to laugh manically.

"Sirius Arcturus Black!" Emmeline scolded, sending the two a stern glare, "Can't you behave in public for once?"

"Ooo, Sirius, you got all three names." Harry said, coming up beside the group with Ron at his side, "You're really in trouble."

Emmeline sent a similar look to Harry, causing the boy to gulp and take a step backwards. "Don't think you are off the hook, either Harry James Potter." Emmeline said, and turned to wave a finger at Sirius and her son, "You three have caused about enough havoc for one day. Sirius, put him down, would you, the last time you ran around with Laurence on your back he ended up hanging upside down from the ceiling by his heels."

Sirius gave a dramatic sigh and set Laurence on the ground. Laurie looked up at him with sad eyes, which prompted Sirius to give a similar look to Emmeline, pushing his lower lip out for more effect.

"That will not help you." Emmeline said, eyeing the two of them, as Laurie imitated Sirius' expression. "Either of you."

Sirius shrugged and grinned down at Laurie, who gave him a toothy grin in return. Harry laughed, earning another look from Emmeline, and causing all the Weasley's to grin. Croy shook his head at them all, leaning on his cane as he watched his family go through familiar motions. Arthur clapped a hand on his shoulder again, and gave him a reassuring grin.

"You'll be just fine, Croy." Arthur said.

"You need to be on the train, Harry." Emmeline said, turning to the boy, and attempting to tame his wild hair. Harry scowled at her and dodged away, running his fingers through the unruly locks and making it all stick up in odd directions.

"Laurie," Croy said, motioning to his son. Laurence bounded over, flinging his arms around him as Croy lifted him up with one arm. He was nearly unable to do so, with the boy's growing form, Croy found it increasingly difficult to hold his son without both hands. Walking while holding the boy was also becoming difficult. His mangled leg was not fond of carrying the extra weight of the growing boy.

"You behave for your mother, Laurie." Croy said, holding his son to his side. Laurence wrapped his legs and arms around him, resting his chin on his shoulder as he nodded. The boy's unruly brown hair tickled at his throat.

"Come on, then." Emmeline said, herding Harry and Ron towards the train. The Weasley's followed, Molly still talking to Emmeline about her pregnancy and their twins to come. Croy suspected that the woman was possibly more excited about the unborn twins than Emmeline and he was yet.

Croy bid goodbye to the Weasley's and Sirius, kissing Emmeline as he handed his son over to her. Emmeline gave one last warning to Harry, echoed by Molly, as Sirius mimicked their small lectures from behind the women, eliciting barely contained laughter from the two boys and smiles from Croy and Arthur. Herding Harry and Ron onto the Express with his cane, Croy boarded the train just as the whistle blew, sounding the impending departure.

"Let's find a compartment, then." Croy said as the train rolled out of the station. Harry and Ron led their way down the length of the train, dodging a few students who were still looking for compartments to sit in. Croy spotted Cedric trying to help a young first year girl with her trunk near the back of the train. Ron and Harry both greeted the boy as they passed him, entering one of the compartments at the end of the train.

"Can I help you?" Croy asked, touching the girl's shoulder lightly to get her attention. She jumped and whirled, causing her to trip backwards and sit down heavily on the lid of her trunk. "I'm sorry," he said, suddenly recognizing the girl, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's ok." She said, pushing her bushy hair behind her ear, as she looked up at him. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of him, looking between him and the raven perched on his shoulder. Riddle cocked his head, turning it to the side to peer at the girl with one eye.

"I'm Professor Croyus." He said, helping her to her feet. "I'll be teaching you Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Oh!" She said, "Pleased to meet you, sir. I'm Hermione Granger." She turned and gestured towards the boy standing behind her, "This is… oh, I don't think you told me your name."

Cedric smiled at her, shrugging a bit shyly before giving Croy a grin. "That's alright. Me and Professor Croyus know each other." He said, and held a hand out to her, "I'm Cedric Diggory." Hermione took his hand and smiled. Cedric looked up at Croy, "I told my friends I'd meet them." He said, looking down the length of the train. Croy nodded and waved him on, watching as Cedric gave Hermione another smile and bounded down the train.

"Where'd he go in such a hurry?" Ron asked as he and Harry returned to see what had held him up. Croy shrugged before turning back to Hermione.

"Do you have somewhere to sit?" he asked her. Hermione glanced around at the doors to the compartments before shifting her eyes back to him and shaking her head.

"You can sit with us, then." Harry said. "C'mon Ron, grab her trunk."

Ron sniffed but grabbed the other handle, pushing Hermione out of the way a bit in the process. The two boys lifted the trunk, though Croy could tell it took them some effort. He wondered how many books the girl had managed to pack into it. Ron and Harry managed to carry the trunk without help, though they struggled some. Croy simply watched them with a small smile as he guided Hermione after them.

Neville was already in the compartment, and the blonde boy watched with amused interest as Ron and Harry bodily pushed the trunk under one of the bench seats. Croy followed with Hermione, and once Ron and Harry had collapsed onto the bench next to Neville, Croy gestured the girl to sit opposite them.

"Do try to behave." Croy said, giving Harry and Ron warning looks.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked.

"I need to brief the new Prefects, since they're all here." Croy said. "It's easier to do so now rather than schedule a meeting for them all during the first week of classes."

Harry nodded, and turned his attention to the girl sitting across from him. "I'm Harry Potter." He said, offering his hand. Croy caught Hermione's look of surprise as he slid the compartment door shut.

The rest of the train ride passed without great incident for Croy, though he suspected that Harry had gotten a visit from Draco Malfoy, if the blonde's dark look was any indication. Croy eyed the young, soon-to-be-Slytherin as the boy passed him in the corridor, his two side-kicks racing to keep up with Draco's quick steps. Draco looked more frustrated than hurt, which Croy had rather expected to see if Harry refused Malfoy's friendship.

Ignoring his own curiosity, Croy decided to keep an eye on the relationship between Harry and Draco in the coming weeks rather than ask either of the boys about it. Croy had joined the first years in the compartment in time to buy them all a selection of snacks off the trolly. Hermione's eagerness to share her knowledge had Ron's face twisted before the train even arrived at Hogsmeade. Croy simply tried to dampen the resulting tension between the four children, as much for his own comfort during the trip as anything else.

By the time the train rolled to a stop, Ron and Hermione were speaking very little to each other, causing Neville to look between the two nervously. Croy sighed, giving Harry a warning look as the boy looked like he was about to burst into laughter. Sirius definitely had a lasting effect on the Boy-Who-Lived. It was just like Sirius to find the tensions between his friends to be a laughing matter. Then again, it was likely a good way to get the two in question to focus on something else.

Croy led them all off the train, holding his cane at his side rather than try to use it in the crowded corridor. By the time they made it onto the platform, Riddle was grumbling darkly in his mind, and Croy's leg was starting to throb. Croy waved the first years towards Hagrid's calls. He gave Harry a reassuring nod as they left, and turned to find a carriage to take him up to the castle, trying to ignore his own nervousness about the coming Sorting.

oooOoooOoooOooo


	15. Harry Hawthorne 01

**Author's Note:** This was originally being written in order to post up on its own, but I figured I'd put some these chapters up here in my Miscellany, mostly because I have no idea if or when I'll finish it. Enjoy.

**Summary:** AU. Picks up at Harry's sixteenth birthday because I'm too lazy to write the first five years out. History and world situation will be hinted at and gradually explained. Why? Cause it's more interesting that way, and allows for more cliff-hangers…

With Harry's youth ensconced within the folds of a healthy Wizarding family, and his training moving along faster than expected, his life is vastly different. But Voldemort still wants his most annoying foe dead or worse, and with the Tri-Wizard Tournament being held at Durmstrang, Harry's challenges grow.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is Rowling's. Anything else is likely my own. Done for fun.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Hawthorne

By Renatus

01 – Limited Exclusions

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry clicked the fourth restraint around his wrist and watched a bit dispassionately as it glowed and shrunk to fit snugly around his arm. He twisted and flexed his wrist, making sure that the metallic band had fit itself to him properly before dropping his arms to his sides.

"That's the last one, then?" An elderly wizard said from across the small room.

Harry didn't say anything and only nodded to the balding man.

"Ah," the man said, crossing the room and tapping each band once with his wand. "It is unusual that a sixteen year old requires four of the bands, Mister Hawthorne."

Harry shrugged slightly. "As you say, Mister Castenlaw."

Castenlaw eyed him for a moment before stepping back away from him again and tapping a small crystal stone hanging from a chain with his wand. The stone glowed in response, and Harry felt the bands warm slightly as the magic connected.

"Good, good." Castenlaw said, waving his wand in an arc, "I, as a Judge of the European Youths Dueling Association acknowledge that First Sworn War-Mage Novice Harry Hawthorne bears four Slugging Bands in accordance to the EYDA Rules three-four-C-zed."

Harry nodded again, running a hand absently over the four bands running up his left arm, contemplating the strange name of the restraints. 'Slugging Bands' was hardly the first thing that he would have called them, though they did make his magic a bit – sluggish.

"Alright, you're set, then." Castenlaw said, stowing his wand. "Be aware, Novice Hawthorne, that should they be tampered with in any way that the Judges will be notified."

"Yes, sir, I am aware." Harry said, watching the man.

Castenlaw gave him a curt nod and left the room, stowing the stone in his robes. It would be hung in the Judge's booth, Harry knew, and should the restricting bands around his arm be tampered with, the stone would glow brightly, letting all the Judge's know.

Harry turned to the locker behind him and pulled out the rest of his gear. The Judge had to put the bands on him before he could finish dressing, otherwise his leather gloves and gauntlets would get in the way.

"Harry, you ready?" a voice called from the door. Harry glanced over to watch his light-haired cousin, Roscoe, enter the room. Taller and broader than Harry, Roscoe bore his lean muscle weight on long limbs that took him a good deal of work to be able to coordinate growing up. Harry recalled the sudden heights that his cousin had gained over the years, and the resulting clumsiness that came after each growth spurt the other boy had. Roscoe had been coltish and gangly as a young teen, and had just gotten past the worst of it all in his later teen years as his muscle mass finally caught up to his bones.

"Nearly, Roz." Harry said, pulling the leather guards over his boots. They covered his legs from the front of his knees down to his ankles, wrapping around his calves securely. Not unlike the standard Quidditch gear, they would guard him from most physical strikes or slides.

"How'd Konur's last go?" Harry asked as he threw a few well-placed charms on his boots and leg guards to make sure they didn't slide or come undone. He frowned slightly as the bands around his arm worked their particular type of magic, making the casting of spells a bit slow and difficult.

"You expect it to go any way but in his direction?" Roscoe asked with a chuckle.

Harry snorted softly, stowing his wand and pulling his arm guards on. "No."

"He won, of course." Roscoe said, leaning against the locker. "He's dead beat for it, though. Should be right enough to watch your Final unless the Healers find something they can hold him on."

"Did he go through all his potions?" Harry asked casting the same charms on his arm guards as he had on his boots.

"Don't think so, though I'm not sure."

"Probably not, then."

Roscoe nodded in agreement, watching as Harry strapped his sword to his left hip, and slipped his second wand into the holster along his thigh. Harry eyed his reflection critically, trying to think of anything he may have forgotten, knowing that one forgotten weapon or wand could mean the loss of the match.

"Do you have _your_ potions?" Roscoe asked, his eye as critical as Harry's.

Harry nodded, running a finger around the vials slipped into the slots along his belt. Deciding that he had just about everything, Harry strapped on the leather chest armor, cinching the straps under his arms tightly. Roscoe walked over and tugged at the armor in a few places, making sure that it was fitted and well tied.

"Dragon hide is good for something." Roscoe muttered, hitting the flat of his fist against Harry's shoulder. Harry grunted and pulled his battle robes from the locker. Slipping the sturdy dark material over his shoulders, Harry glanced over at his cousin.

"How're the ribs?" he asked, shifting his robes to lie smoothly over his shoulders.

Roscoe shrugged slightly, though Harry could tell he was favoring his left side. "Mending." Roscoe said with a slight grimace.

Harry mirrored the look and buttoned up his robes, securing the series of clasps along his left chest from his collar to naval. The robes were dark gray in color, and tailored to his size so that they would fit over the thin armor without looking like he had a pillow wrapped around his chest. The short sleeves reached halfway down his forearms, making it just difficult to tell what sorts of things Harry had strapped to his arms. He adjusted the 'skirt' of the robes so that the split tails weren't caught on the sheath of his sword.

"Did you get that shortened?" Roscoe asked, watching Harry curiously.

Harry nodded, eyeing the shorter length of the robes in the mirror. Many traditional battle robes were near as long as every-day robes, dragging across the ground when the dueler crouched or ducked. Harry had had his shortened so that they were barely lower than his knees, and less likely to get in his way.

"Slick." Roscoe said with a smirk. Harry gave him a look, and secured his War-Mage insignia to the left shoulder of his robes, casting a few charms towards that as well.

"Know who you're facing?" Roscoe asked as Harry slipped his wand back into the holster along his right arm.

"Grus Amir Malik." Harry stated.

"Aye." Roscoe said with a wry grin, "Too bad he shares my father's name, they look nothing alike."

Harry raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You've seen him?"

"Sure." His cousin said with a wave towards the stadium, "He was making quick work of some poor French sod while you were battling for you life against that Roedict, fellow."

"Roderick." Harry corrected absently. "You didn't watch mine?"

"I know how you fight, Hal." Roscoe said, "Subtle, patient, death-dealing, dirty."

Harry snorted. "Hardly."

"But this Malik guy, he fights dirtier than you at your worst."

Harry looked at his cousin a bit critically, knowing that Roscoe's rather crude assessment of his opponent was likely spot-on.

"Anything I should watch for?" Harry asked.

"Everything."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that.

"Seriously, he's like a snake." Roscoe said, curling his arm and hand in a passing imitation of a serpent, and wriggling his fingers sinisterly. "With at least five heads. He pulled some sort of potions trick and blanketed half the stadium in fog. When it had cleared, the French kid had lost his wand, his dignity and his arm. Malik still had him at sword-point, and didn't seem ready to stop. I thought he was going to kill the kid before the signal went up."

"I heard something similar happened in an earlier round of his." Harry said.

"Yeah, watch out for the fog, Hal."

"Maybe I'll turn his trick against him." Harry said with a smirk.

Roscoe shook his head at him, amused.

Harry took a deep breath, absorbing the information. He would have to be prepared for anything.

"Ready, then?" Roscoe asked. Harry nodded and followed his cousin out of the room, running a hand down his left arm over his sleeve absently. He was never terribly fond of wearing the "Slugging Bands". It made him feel like he was walking around with five pound weights strapped to his arms and legs.

Harry followed his cousin through the hall in silence, using the time to put his mind into a more focused state. After his duel against Roderick that morning, Harry was feeling slightly stretched to get his senses into prime fighting form. Roderick had been a relentless opponent, and Harry's worn state attested to the struggle. Forced into wearing the bands around his arms, Harry's casting had been a bit slow and weak compared to his usual, and he hadn't counted on the fourth band. He had expected to wear only three. The unexpected restraint to his magic made the contest more difficult, not that Harry was complaining much, but he'd need his wits about him when he faced Malik.

Roscoe stopped at the doorway to the stadium and Harry stepped up next to him. They could hear the general ruckus of the crowd above them and the announcer's voice going on about the rules and listing basic facts about the final two opponents.

"You've got about five minutes, Hal." Roscoe said, checking his watch and glancing up at the roof. "You good?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Roz."

"Sure thing." Roscoe said with a slap to his shoulder as he disappeared back down the hall to return to his seat. Harry leaned against the wall by the door and closed his eyes, letting his ears pick up the sounds from the stadium while he concentrated on his breathing.

The time passed quickly as Harry only half-heartedly listened to the announced rules. He knew them already. No Unforgivables. Nothing that would cause immediate death – one of the more easily debated rules of this particular division to Harry's mind. No leaving the Arena Area. No outside help, including summons, familiars and other wizards. It was a one-on-one fight. Limited-Exclusions-Anything-Goes Division style.

Harry scowled slightly at his father for forcing him into the competition. He was happy competing in the Terrain Dueling alone. He hadn't had a strong desire to enter the LEAG Division as well.

The sudden swell in the crowd's cheering pulled him out of his thoughts, telling him that it was time for him to enter. The announcer's voice was nearly drowned out as he called Harry's name.

Harry pushed the doors open and strode out into the stadium, squinting his eyes slightly at the lights and the noise. He made his way from the side of the stadium to the center, where the Arena Area was positioned. The large round platform dominated the stadium floor, rising over three meters off the ground and stretching into a wide space free for battle.

Harry climbed the narrow steps up onto the platform, ignoring the announcer's rendition of what little was known about him. His status as a War-Mage Novice was of particular interest to the crowd as the bands on his arm restricted his magic and movement. The restrictions tried to nullify his training and make it a more even playing field for his opponents. Unfortunately for the one wearing the Slugging Bands, the judges tended to be a bit over cautious. It was the conditions under witch a Novice had to work in order to compete within the Dueling Association. Harry would have forgone the whole deal entirely except his father had entered him into the competitions anyways.

Harry stood in the general vicinity of the center of the ring as the announcer finished his introduction of him and called out the second fighter. Like with his own, Harry ignored Grus Malik's introduction, instead watching the medium-skinned boy enter the stadium and make his way up onto the arena platform.

Malik was tall, easily a head over Harry, and broad shouldered, though with a thin waist. Despite his height, Malik wasn't much broader than Harry, which caused the darker boy to appear lanky and thin next to him. Roscoe's comparison to a snake rang true. The boy was wiry and graceful, nearly gliding across the platform to stand the traditional eleven and a third meters away from Harry, his green robes glinting a bit in the stadium lights.

"Witches and Wizards," the announcer said, "Welcome to the European Youths Duelling Association's Limited-Exclusions-Anything-Goes Division Final Match between War-Mage Novice Harry Gavin Hawthorne and this year's semi-finals winner Grus Amir Malik!"

The crowd grew quiet, watching the arena with bated breath. The two duelers stood alert and ready, though neither had yet drawn a wand or weapon. The announcer was also quiet, waiting with the crowd for the Referee to begin the match.

A bright flash of green and yellow light above the center of the arena signaled the beginning and the two opponents burst into action.

Malik jumped swiftly to his right, rolling over his shoulder and pulling his wand into his left hand as Harry threw a few simple charms in his direction. Not knowing what they may be, Malik let them pass over him as he rolled to his feet and shot a series of hexes back.

Harry bent and ducked around them, barely shifting his feet. Harry dodged what spells the other boy sent in his direction, sending a few charms back absently, all the while moving slowly closer to his opponent. A well-aimed bludgeoning hex nearly caught his feet as he jumped to the side and Harry found himself thrown through the air as the ground exploded beneath him.

Growling at the use of the bludgeoning hex to his feet, Harry retaliated from his half-sprawled position on the mat, hitting the other boy with a particularly nasty itching hex to his wand arm. Harry made a face at the distinct pulling sensation that the bands on his arms caused at the power he had pushed into the spell. Malik hissed at the itching sensation, his arm contorting in response.

By the time Harry rose to his feet, the dark-skinned boy had managed to counter the itching hex, and was watching him warily. Harry snarled slightly, rolling his wand between his thumb and fingers, waiting for his opponent's next move.

Malik moved suddenly, darting to his side while casting a string of hexes towards Harry. Harry countered and dodged, returning spells only enough to keep the other boy at a middle-ground distance, a strategy that was clearly frustrating Malik as the darker boy worked to bring the fight into close range.

The match went on from there as the two cast increasingly complicated spells and tried to get an upper hand over the other. At some point Harry had managed to throw a potion at Malik's feet, striking his boot and eliciting a wide-eyed look of surprise as a cloud billowed up around him.

Harry circled the cloud silently, swiftly, throwing harmless charms and hexes into the fog cloud between random charms cast over the floor of the arena. The cloud moved a bit, tied to the position of Malik as the other boy moved across the arena floor. As the cloud shifted and moved across the floor, it thinned, revealing Malik with a sword drawn in one hand and his wand in the other.

Harry watched him a moment, blinking as he noticed that a color charm had changed the boy's hair to a lime green. The color contrasted harshly against the boy's darker skin tones. Harry smirked, highly amused at the sight.

Malik caught sight of him and cast an unrelenting stream of spells. Harry dodged and countered what he could, pulling up shields to rebound what he couldn't bend around. A cutting curse grazed across his upper arm, and Harry winced at the pain, rolling to the side and casting a few vicious hexes in retaliation. Malik dodged but managed to get hit with a violently purple spell across his back that tore through his robes, leaving the material in streaming shreds. If he hadn't had armor on, Harry was pretty sure that the gashes would have downed the other boy.

They continued in the same manner, Harry mostly going back to harmless charms and shields while he ducked around Malik's increasingly dangerous hexes. Their casting was pretty well matched, though Malik utilized his slim and lanky form to gain more speed on his feet, until Malik stepped into one of the charms Harry had cast at the floor, and found his boots considerably stickier than they should have been.

With the other boy effectively slowed down, Harry began to circle him again, carefully avoiding his own charms on the floor. By the time Harry was about to charge the other boy, Malik got his boots unstuck, and aimed his sword.

Harry drew his own and the two focused on their weapons rather than their wands, though Malik would randomly step away long enough to through a hex or two that Harry would duck or block.

Harry continually pushed the taller boy across the platform, able to keep the other mostly on the defensive but without an opening to strike and end the match. Malik's longer reach and longer sword blade made things difficult for Harry, who couldn't get under the other boy's guard. Malik tried a few reductor curses aimed at Harry's legs and feet, which sent Harry flying once before Harry countered one with a high-powered jelly-legs jinx that the other boy hadn't been able to fully remove.

Tiring of the dark-skinned boy's continued under-handed maneuvers, Harry snarled and stabbed his sword into the mat, feeling a wave of magic ripple out from the blade, visible on the surface of the platform. Malik stumbled over the force, losing his grip on his sword as he toppled to one knee. Harry took two long strides to the boy, swiping his wand in sharp, quick gestures that had Malik bound by lengths of rough rope.

Malik glared up at him, throwing a stream of curses from his bound hand. Harry ducked around them, throwing up small shields as he needed, though he missed a couple low-level hexes that struck his leg and hip. Malik freed himself from the ropes and jumped backwards and Harry used the opening to cast a couple stunners at him.

The thin boy missed the stunners, but unfortunately Malik landed in one of Harry's previous charms on the floor, and found his right leg sucked into the mat like quicksand. The sudden motion caused the boy to cry out, scrabbling at the floor to prevent the charm from pulling more of him into the platform.

Harry cast a stream of incendios around the boy, surrounding him in flames as the charm on the floor tried to swallow him whole. Harry circled him at a distance, watching the boy struggle with the flooring and try to put out the fires. Aiming his wand carefully at the boy's broad-shouldered back Harry forced his magic through the restraints, and cast a strong summoning charm.

Malik let out a cry as he was summoned out of the floor and fire through the air. Harry kept his wand trained on the boy until he was close before breaking the charm and dodging the boy's flailing limbs. He watched in barely restrained amusement as Malik crashed into the far edge of the platform, skidding across the surface of the mat and tumbling off the high edge of the arena with a startled yell.

Harry rose slowly, trying to steady his rough breathing. His summoning charm had stretched the limits that the Slugging Bands had allowed him, leaving him slightly breathless for the act. The bands were still eliciting a strange pulling sensation that he couldn't quite pinpoint, but was annoying all the same. Taking deep breaths he walked across the arena, dodging his few charms still scattered around the floor and plucking the boy's wand up from the mat. He stood over the edge of the platform, twirling the boy's wand between his fingers absently as he eyed the pile of robes and wizard that was the dark-skinned youth.

The match was over the moment Malik tumbled off the Arena platform.

Malik groaned up at him with a glare, his hair still a brilliant green, and Harry raised an eyebrow at his antics. Tossing his wand down at the boy Harry turned and crossed the platform again to retrieve his sword while he inspected his injuries.

The cutting curse across his upper arm would require mending, and the hexes that had struck his leg and hip needed to be reversed before their itching drove him mad. He sported a few other minor injuries, bruises and small cuts, though he was a bit worried that he may have broken a rib or two, and his left knee was incredibly sore.

Trying to control his rapid breathing, and stay on his feet Harry sheathed his sword and glanced around the Arena Area. Malik's bludgeoning and reductor curses had torn through the flooring, and Harry's fire spells were still burning merrily through the mats.

He drowned out the announcer's calls and made his way to the stairs leading off the platform. Harry was met there by Roscoe, the sandy-haired youth bounding onto the platform with much more energy than Harry cared to see.

"Gorgeous, mate." Roscoe exclaimed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and clapping him on the back. "I couldn't have done better myself."

Harry gave him a wry grin and let the taller boy support some of his weight as they made their way down the narrow stairs.

"Konur!" Roscoe called from the stairs to the dark haired boy at the bottom. "Tell Hal how well he did!"

"I don't need to after your display, Roz." Konur replied, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Heard you got the weapons competition beat." Harry said between breaths as they reached the stadium floor. Konur shrugged his shoulders, though Harry could see the smile.

"Come on, Hal." Konur said, giving Harry a once over a bit critically, "Father wants to talk to you before Aunt Mari hauls you off for healing."

Harry held in a groan at the prospect as he followed Konur out of the stadium, leaning slightly on Roscoe as they went. His knee was growing steadily worse as he walked. By the time they made it out of the stadium and back to the room Harry had used to change, his adrenaline had dissipated and he was finding himself with worse aches and pains than he had thought.

Konur walked through the door, standing to the side to hold it open as Harry limped into the room. Roscoe was chuckling slightly in his ear, and Harry had to resist the growing urge to step on his foot.

"Congratulations." his father said as Konur let the door shut behind them. Harry nodded and looked up at the man. Cebalran Hawthorne was a tall, broad man with dark hair and dull green eyes, features that he had passed onto his blood born son, Konur, in just about every detail. Though Cebalran's features were generally nondescript and southern European, it was his sheer presence that called upon command and obedience.

His particular reputation certainly aided in his air of command.

"Father." Harry greeted, pulling himself a bit more upright. Roscoe moved away from him and stood back near the door, leaning against the wall.

Cebalran watched him intently for a moment, unrevealing in his thoughts. Harry endured the scrutiny and ignored the pains from the competition. Harry knew that he could have done better in the match, but he also knew that he had done well.

"A well-played match." Cebalran said finally letting his eyes roam between the three boys, "To all three of you. It is a good end for your final year in the EYDA."

Harry shifted a bit under the praise, reveling in it, and knowing that his father would sit all three of them down later to pick apart their respective battles. But they got the congratulations and praise first, when the crowds were still cheering and the excitement was high. There would be time enough for criticism and tactics later.

"Konur," Cebalran said, turning to his oldest son, "Would you find Mariamne, please, no doubt your brother would appreciate her Healing, and I would like to speak with my Apprentices a moment."

Konur nodded, clapped Harry on the shoulder with a grin and walked out the door to find their aunt, leaving the other two boys with their Mentor. Harry didn't move from his erect stance, watching Cebalran a bit closely, respectfully. He felt Roscoe move to stand beside him, his stance mirroring his cousin's as they faced their War-Mage superior and Mentor.

"You were placed with four bands, Novice?" Cebalran asked. Harry nodded, running his hand over his covered arm again. The man nodded and looked between the two. "And you with three." He said to Roscoe. Roscoe nodded in turn.

"This was not entirely unexpected." Cebalran said, smirking slightly at Harry's surprised expression. Harry had expected three bands, as per what his father had told him to prepare for. The fourth had surprised him when the Judges told him that it would be required.

"Your magic is still expanding." Cebalran informed them, "And Harry's magic is growing at a faster rate than most others his age; an interesting thing to think on." The man looked intently at Harry, his darker green eyes meeting Harry's own vivid ones. "I want you to continue to wear them."

Harry pulled back slightly out of instinct, surprised at the command. "May I ask why, Dominum?" he asked, using the formal form of address.

"So that you can learn endurance, Novice." Cebalran replied, "And so that you may condition your magic to be stronger and more powerful."

"Yes, Dominum." Harry said, bowing his head at the neck, accepting the order. He heard Roscoe echo the affirmation and nod next to him.

"And no doubt it will offer another level of safety to your classmates." Their father said a bit wryly.

Harry smirked as he raised his head again, and glanced at his cousin.

"Think we should tell our fellow classmates that our magic has been restrained?" Roscoe asked him a bit evilly. Harry's smirk grew as he heard his father sigh at them.

"I think that may ruin our fun, Roz."

"Too right." Roscoe said with a nod.

"One more thing." Their Mentor said, breaking the two out of their banter. The two boys turned back to the man. "The Tri-Wizard Tournament is being held again this year."

Harry exchanged a glance with his cousin. The Tri-Wizard Tournament had been held at Hogwarts three years past, but neither had attended the event. They had been too young to be named Champions, and so had remained at school, leaving the Tournament's festivities to their upper classmen.

"The Heads of the schools are holding a meeting to discuss a few matters and new aspects to the Tournament, the least of which will be the exchange of a few Professors." Cebalran continued, "And I would like the two of you to accompany your Headmaster Folkvar for the gathering."

"Is my father aware we are going with him?" Roscoe asked.

Cebalran nodded. "I have already spoken to him on the matter. The two of you will be the school's acting assistants for the duration of the Tournament. You will not compete, nor will you try to compete, as Champions in the Tournament."

Harry nodded at the order, seeing Roscoe do the same out of the corner of his eye. While the Tri-Wizard Tournament offered interest, Harry doubted that either of them would really miss the opportunity to actually take part as the Champion.

"May we still fly?" Harry asked.

"Yes. You may compete as normal in Quidditch." Cebalran said. "Speaking of which, each school will also be assembling a Quidditch team to hold a series of matches between the three. You are allowed to join the school teams for the Tournament, but remember," he said looking between them sternly, "You are not allowed to act as Champions."

The boys both nodded again.

"May I ask why, Dominum?" Harry asked, his curiosity getting the better of him, though knowing that if his father didn't want to give a reason, Harry wouldn't get one.

"You are First-Sworn." Cebalran said simply.

Harry figured that it explained it well enough. As War-Mages, even in training, they weren't easily accepted in normal competitions. Their training gave them a huge advantage, especially in areas like dueling and such activities that the Tri-Wizard Tournament would bring about. Even with the Slugging Bands, the two boys had a great head start over their peers in the realm of battle, on any front.

A knock sounded on the door, ending their private conversation. Harry and Roscoe both bowed their heads again, mumbling acceptance of the orders their mentor had given them. Acting as assistants in the Tournament rather than normal students would no doubt make their final year of school a bit more interesting. Not that their extra training and lessons didn't already do that for them.

At Cebalran's, "Come in." Konur entered, preceding a middle-aged witch with her silver hair pulled back in a thick plait.

"Aunt Mari!" Roscoe greeted with an exuberant call, bounding over to her and sweeping the robust woman into a hug. She slapped at his head for his antics, berating him for treating a poor old woman in such a way and likely upsetting his broken ribs.

"Put me down, Roscoe Folkvar," Mari said, her wand already in her hand as she threatened him. Roscoe did as he was told and stepped away from the woman, grinning widely. Mari eyed him darkly for a moment before turning to Harry.

"Hello, Aunt Mari." Harry greeted with a smile.

"Harry, dear." Mari said, pushing him onto one of the benches along the wall. "Let me see what you've done to yourself this time."

Harry let her guide him to a seat and didn't protest as she ran diagnostic spells over his body. He wasn't terribly fond of running around with injuries any longer than he had to, and he had learned quickly that to disrupt or otherwise to try to evade Mariamne Kemp in her healing meant curses instead, oaths be damned.

"Well," his Aunt said standing upright and crossing her arms as she looked down at him. "You've got two fractured ribs, a pulled tendon in your left knee, a cut on your right arm that will have to be sutured, uncounted minor scrapes and bruises, two burning hexes and a sprain in your right pinky."

Harry blinked. "That sounds about right." He offered. Mari gave him a disapproving look as she handed him two vials of potions and began to cast healing spells on him, taking particular care with the gash across his bicep. Harry swallowed the potions without complaint, grimacing slightly at their taste.

"You came out better than I did, Hal." Roscoe said from across the room. Harry shrugged and gave his cousin a smirk.

"Better than Malik, too." Harry said.

Roscoe laughed. "That serpent certainly won't be walking away from the arena. I especially loved the green hair, and I think his leg broke somewhere when you summoned him out of your sinking charm."

"I thought I heard it snap twice." Konur said.

"Maybe so." Roscoe said, "And he'll think twice before assuming a Jelly-Legs-Jinx is harmless, yeah?"

"He should have stopped trying to hit me with that bludgeoning hex." Harry said a bit grumpy.

"Almost got you a couple times." Roscoe pointed out. "That could have made things ugly."

Konur snorted in amusement, "Uglier for Malik. If one of those things hit Hal, he would have slaughtered the kid."

Roscoe laughed and plopped himself down on the bench next to Harry, jostling him as he threw an arm across his shoulders. Mari frowned at them as she finished her healing and put her wand away.

"Our Harry Hawthorne," Roscoe said, sickly sweet, to which Harry punched him in the arm. "Won the LEAG Division Finals with a sinking charm and an accio."

"Don't forget the fire." Harry said, scowling as his cousin laughed beside him.

"Take it easy for a few days." Mari ordered the three boys. "Especially that knee, Harry, it'll be weak for a day or two." Harry nodded, ignoring Roscoe's continued barbs and laughs. Mari bid his father goodbye and left the room, sending the boys a last stern look before the door closed behind her.

"You're training will be light tomorrow." Cebalran informed them. "Don't stay out too late, and be on time for breakfast else you will never hear the end of it from your mother."

"Yes, sir." Harry and Konur echoed while Roscoe gave a jaunty salute. Cebalran shook his head at their antics and left the room after his sister.

"Celebrate?" Roscoe asked when the three were left alone. Harry and Konur exchanged looks and turned back to their cousin with a grin.

"Three first place division winners should celebrate whole-heartedly." Roscoe told them imperiously, holding a finger up. "I say we check out the local entertainment, and make some of our own."

Harry grinned at the two, looking forward to the free night with his friends, despite the lingering aches of the competitions.

"Muggle or Magical?" Harry asked with a smirk.

oooOoooOoooOooo


	16. Harry Hawthorne 02

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is Rowling's. Anything else is likely my own. Done for fun.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Hawthorne

By Renatus

02 – Meeting of the Schools

oooOoooOoooOooo

Breakfast the morning following the Dueling Championships was a subdued affair. At least, it was in relation to its usual boisterousness. The three boys where much quieter than they were typically on a morning at home, and even Roscoe was yawning into his tea rather than making jokes.

"Late night, boys?" their old uncle asked them. Harry glanced up at the man, seeing the mirth in hazel eyes. Barnabe Hawthorne was nearly one hundred in age though Harry didn't know the exact number of years, but then again, neither did Barnabe.

"Not overly, Uncle Barney." Harry said as it became clear that the other two boys weren't about to respond. Konur just took another bite of toast and Roscoe poured himself his fourth cup of tea.

"Oh?" the old man's white eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Just the combination of the competitions and all, I think." Harry said, suppressing a yawn himself. They really hadn't stayed out all that late.  
"Grus is expecting you at nine." His father told them, watching them from the head of the table in bemusement.

Roscoe groaned and downed his cup of tea, gasping as it burned his tongue. Harry raised an eyebrow at his cousin in amusement, but the light-haired teen didn't notice.

"I really need to tell my father what, exactly, is a respectable time to be up in the morning." Roscoe grumbled, reaching for the teapot again. Harry debated telling him that he would likely make himself sick if he drank much more, but decided that his advice wouldn't be heeded.

"You rise early enough for classes and training most other days." A woman said from across the table. "Why so difficult this day?"

Roscoe answered with a noncommittal grunt and gulped at his tea. Harry rolled his eyes before turning to his mother. She sat back comfortably in her chair, regarding them all in silent amusement while she twirled a lock of dark hair between her fingers.

"Healing potions and all." Harry said with a small grimace.

"No doubt." She said, glancing between the three boys.

"That's right." Roscoe said, not taking his eyes off his tea. "Healing potions and all."

Harry glanced at him in slight exasperation, tempted to upend the teacup in his cousin's lap.

"They are terribly draining, I suppose." his mother said.

"Don't encourage them, Auriga." Cebalran said, nursing his own cup of tea at a much more sedate pace than his nephew.

Harry looked between his parents, noting his father's barely hidden amusement and his mother's open one. His mother's eyes were laughing at them, knowing darn well that whatever excuse they may come up with, that the only reason they were so bloody tired was because they really were out too late the night before.

Harry sighed and returned to his breakfast, not managing to stop a yawn. Perhaps, they shouldn't have stayed out so late.

"You've only got twenty minutes." Barney said, waving his fork around and looking at them wide-eyed.

"Did you hear that, Roz?" Harry asked. Roscoe mumbled something incoherently, but seemed to nod. "Twenty minutes." Harry said, eyeing his cousin as he drained his tea again.

"Your father won't want to be late, Roscoe." Auriga said, her voice a mixture of amusement and sternness. "With this being the first Tournament he's hosted, he will want to make a good impression of some sort on the other schools."

Roscoe seemed to hear the warning, though Harry still wondered if he would be able to walk without yawning. The tea, however, seemed to be helping somewhat.

Harry finished off his own cup of tea and rose from his chair. Grabbing Roscoe by the back of his shirt, he bodily hauled the taller boy from his chair, deftly ignoring his glares and half-hearted attempts to kick him. Smiling at his mother, Harry frog-marched his cousin out of the dining room.

"Oy, lemme go." Rosoe said, still holding a half-full cup of tea and trying to free his shirt from Harry's grasp.

"Up and awake, cuz." Harry said over-cheery, knowing it would annoy Roscoe.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm up already." Roscoe grumped, "Lemme be."

Harry shrugged, letting him go to poke him in the side as they made their way up the stairs. Roscoe sent him a glare, but it was ruined by the yawn that followed.

"We need to hurry up." Harry said, steering the boy towards the bedroom.

"Yeah, yeah." Roscoe muttered, wandering into Harry's room. Harry shook his head and followed after him, making his way around the extra bed that had been transfigured to sleep Roscoe and over to his wardrobe.

In true adolescent boy fashion, the two scurried around to finish dressing before they made it back to the dining room with only a minimal amount of fuss. Harry had to poke Roscoe a couple more times before he felt confident the blonde would be on time on his own. By the time they had congregated to the dining room, they were sufficiently awake enough not too look like walking zombies and Roscoe was starting to perk up a bit, though Harry was suspicious that the liberal amounts of tea had something to do with that.

"Cyrille will want to see you before you return to school." His mother told them, taking her time with her breakfast. Barnabe had disappeared somewhere in the interim, and Konur was hidden behind the morning's paper, grumbling darkly about something or another.

"When will she be back from Aunt Mari's?" Harry asked, stooping to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Tomorrow, unless she decides she doesn't want to leave again." She said with a chuckle.

"Mari'll likely kick her out before then." Roscoe quipped, grabbing another slice of toast off the table.

"Perhaps." Auriga said.

"I'll be at the Tower tomorrow." Harry said.

Auriga nodded, "Yes, I know. I'm just reminding you that your sister will want to spend some time with you before you take off to school without her again."

Harry cringed and gave his mother a sheepish smile. His little sister was always so disappointed each year the boys went to school and left her at home for the year. Granted, she had hardly known anything else, as young as she was, but she still yearned to join them every year as they packed and left.

"Grus will meet you at the Leaky Cauldron in London." His father said, giving the paper in Konur's hands a look of disgust. "He'll take you the rest of the way to the meeting."

"Why in London, anyways?" Roscoe asked, "Only Hogwarts is in Britain. Seems a bit unfair to have Beauxbatons and Durmstrang haul all the way over to the island just for a meet and greet."

"Madam Maxime has close ties to one of Hogwart's staff members." Auriga said, "So I doubt it's much trouble for her to make the trip." Harry figured his mother would know. She had attended Beauxbatons herself, and kept in touch with the school's various Professors.

"And what about us?" Roscoe asked in mock outrage. "All the way from Bulgaria?!"

"We don't live in Bulgaria, Roz." Harry said.

"They don't know that."

"Go." Cebalran said, taking the paper from his son with a look of distinct distaste, "And behave."

"Father." Harry said in farewell, pushing Roscoe towards the fireplace.

"Have fun." Konur called after them, waving the slice of toast in his hand. Harry gave him a look as Roscoe disappeared in a flash of green flames.

"Be cautious around Dumbledore, Harry." His father suddenly said, his voice serious. Harry met his father's eyes, knowing what the warning was for. He absently noticed his mother look slightly worried, though she tried to hide it.

"I will." Harry said, before dropping the pinch of Floo powder at his feet, calling out "The Leaky Cauldron". Harry closed his eyes against the soot, holding his arms close to his body. A moment later he stumbled out of the fireplace, landing on one knee and nearly ending up sprawled across the floor.

"So graceful, Hal." Roscoe said, laughing. Harry growled at him as he picked himself up off the floor.

"I hate the Floo." Harry grumbled.

"I rather think the feeling is mutual." Roscoe quipped. Harry glowered at him, but wasn't able to respond as they were interrupted.

"You two are almost late." A voice said from their side.

"Can I blame Harry?" Roscoe asked, turning to his father, hardly missing a beat.

"I doubt it." Grus said. Harry decided not to argue with his cousin, instead giving the blonde a sharp poke in the ribs as he turned to greet the man.

"Uncle Folkvar." Harry said, smiling as Roscoe hissed at him under his breath.

Grus Folkvar was just as tall and thin as his son was, though that was about where the comparisons ended. While Roscoe was light-haired and boisterous, Grus was dark and observant. His thick hair was kept long, tied back at the nape of his neck with a cord. His mouth was framed with a neatly trimmed, if a bit long, moustache, with a few grey hairs interspersed with the dark. Harry had never met Roscoe's mother, but from the pictures he had seen, he knew that his cousin took more after his late mother than his father.

"Congratulations on your Division wins." Grus said, placing a hand on Roscoe's shoulder, but including them both in his gaze. "I saw a pensieve memory of both your final matches. I am impressed."

"Thanks." The boys said in unison.

"We are going to Hogwarts." Grus informed them after a nod. "Apparate to the gates. Do behave yourselves."

Harry and Roscoe nodded, and with a stern look Grus disapparated with a soft crack. Harry exchanged a brief look with his cousin before following, ignoring the irritated looks of the patrons in the bar at their sudden leaving.

Appearing on a well-worn gravel road, Harry took in the sight of the quaint Wizarding village that could be seen in the near distance. He had been to Hogsmeade before, though only briefly, and found the village likeable enough if a little restricted in its offerings. The village as a whole nearly catered exclusively to the students of Hogwarts, leaving very little room for anything that may interest someone who didn't attend the school.

"Hal!" Roscoe called, "This way."

Harry turned from the village and followed after his cousin, ignoring Roscoe's verbal jabs. The three passed through the school's gates with ease, and made their way up the road to the castle that lay beyond.

It was as they rounded a bend that the castle itself came into view.

Harry had spent the majority of his life in a magical household, and attended one of the foremost institutions for magical learning in all of Europe, but the sight of the Hogwarts castle caused no small amount of awe. It was perched nearly precariously on the edge of a steep hill that took a slow, gentle slope down from the front of the doors and into the yard beyond. The lake and forest and grounds circled the castle like protective guards, all the while adding to the place's wonder. It was the very image of a magical castle, complete with towering spires and winding towers, and impossible angles.

Harry found himself equally amazed and amused with the fairy-tale like quality of the place. It was by far, the most picturesque location he had yet seen to be used as a school.

"Well." Roscoe exclaimed, having stopped to stare next to Harry. "That's impressive."

Harry chuckled. "Very pretty, really." He said, eyeing the beautiful landscape and castle.

"You always have such a gift for making the extraordinary out to be nothing but the extra-dull." Roscoe said dryly.

"What can I say?" Harry sent his cousin a wry grin and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on, boys." Grus said, having paused a few paces ahead of them, "We've a meeting to make."

Harry and Roscoe followed after the man, taking in more of the sights that the castle and its grounds offered as they made their way to the main doors. Harry took the time to collect his thoughts and emotions, reigning them all in to a tightly controlled knot. He had the fleeting thought of wondering what his life would have been like if he had opted to attend Hogwarts rather than follow his brother and cousin into Durmstrang.

But it didn't do to dwell on what might have been.

They were greeted at the doors by a stern looking woman with her hair in a neat bun and wearing dark green robes. She looked over the three critically as they closed the distance to the doors. Harry got the impression that she found them a bit lacking, in whatever standards she was holding them to.

"Good morning." She said, her gaze steady as she greeted them. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagoll."

"Grus Folkvar." Grus said, holding out a hand to shake. McGonagoll took the offered hand, her eyes steady.

"The Headmaster of Durmstrang." McGonagoll said, dropping his hand. "You took Karkaroff's place after he – disappeared."

Grus just nodded, never one to offer excess words. McGonagoll's lips pursed a bit as she got no response from him.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Headmaster Folkvar." She said, her eyes flickering between the three a moment. "This way, if you would."

Grus sent the two boys a glance and the three followed the woman into the school. They didn't go far, passing through an entrance hall that was impressive with it's height – Harry thought it may be equal to four or five stories tall – and a short hallway before entering the Great Hall.

Roscoe had pointed out a moving portrait of a Wizard wrestling a troll in which the wizard had jabbed his wand up the troll's nose, with a snigger. Harry sent his cousin a slightly exasperated look as they walked through the doors into the hall.

"Albus," McGonagoll said, striding down the aisles between the long tables, "Durmstrang's Headmaster has arrived."

"Ah, good." Dumbledore said, standing at the head table amidst a small crowd. Harry took a minute to study the old man, taking in the Wizard's brightly colored robes and matching hat. The man's eyes were bright and mirthful behind his glasses. All told, Albus Dumbledore looked like a slightly doddering old grandfather with an annoying look of good cheer about him.

But Harry could feel the power from the man, radiating outward in a semi-steady pulse of magic. It wasn't tangible, or visual, but Harry could sense it just the same. For all of Dumbledore's years and cheery moods, he was a powerful and knowledgeable Wizard with a solid reputation.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Headmaster Folkvar." Dumbledore greeted, "I was just about to get worried about you."

Grus snorted, and waved a hand towards the two boys flanking him. "We had a long way to come."

Harry scowled slightly at being blamed for their near lateness.

"Indeed, indeed." Dumbledore said and gestured to head table. "Why don't we all take a seat and we'll go through some introductions before getting down to business."

The gathered group of Professors moved to follow the suggestion, taking seats around the u-shaped head table. The table was laid out with a light fare, consisting mostly of tea and various biscuits or small snacks. With a nod to Harry, Roscoe moved to sit next to his father, leaving Harry to take the seat between an empty chair and his Potions professor at the end of the table.

"Mr. Hawthorne." The man greeted softly in an accented English as Harry sat down. "A pleasure, as always."

"Good morning, Professor Ulrickson." Harry returned, his voice just as soft as the elder man's was. Ulrickson nodded at him and turned back to the task of drowning his tea with honey.

Harry watched silently as the group settled themselves. It was easy to notice that Hogwarts had a number of their staff on hand, likely more than was really necessary, while Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had limited their attendance with those who would be directly involved with the Tournament's new aspects.

"Is this everybody?" Dumbledore asked, gazing around the table from his chair at the center.

"Nearly." Grus said. "One of my Professors will be a few minutes late."

Dumbledore blinked at him a moment and nodded. "Shall I send someone to wait?"

"That won't be necessary."

Harry was sure that Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling, but with the distance of the table between them, he couldn't be sure. He felt his lips turn in a smirk before he let it fade. Dumbledore may be able to guess at the identity of the missing Durmstrang Professor, but Harry highly doubted that many others would.

"Let us do the introductions, then." Dumbledore said and motioned for McGonogall, who was next to him, to begin.

"I am Professor Minerva McGonagoll," the stern Witch began, "Deputy Head Mistress of Hogwarts, and Professor of Transfiguration."

"And the Head of one of our Houses, Gryffindor." Dumbledore added. McGonagoll nodded and turned to the person sitting next to her to continue the self-introductions.

Harry only paid minimal attention, catching only their names and a few tidbits about each person as they went around the table. Filius Flitwick's reputation on the dueling circuit was well known to Harry, though the man's miniature size surprised him a bit. The Potions Master, Snape, gave a sneer to the lot of them, and said little more than his name and occupation, clearly unhappy about being in attendance. Dumbledore added that Snape was a Head of House like McGonagoll, to which the dark man sneered all the more. The French Professors were more courteous, and Harry found himself intrigued by the jewel-like tones of their Astronomy Professor's voice, which belayed her elderly appearance considerably.

Harry and Roscoe introduced themselves with no more information than Snape had done, though without the sneer. The title of War-Mage, even with the slightly diminutive "Novice" tacked on to the end, garnered numerous startled looks from the entire ensemble, minus the Durmstrang Professors, who knew both of the boys.

"Wonderful." Dumbledore exclaimed, though he was giving the boys intense, curious looks. "Down to some business, then. This year, as most of you know, the Tri-Wizard Tournament will be held at Durmstrang, much as it was done three years ago here at Hogwarts. However, we have decided to add a couple new facets to this little jewel, namely, the exchange of a few of our Professors and a small Quidditch tournament between the schools. We are here today to address any concerns the trading of Professors may arise, and of course, any other matters that may pertain. Is there anything that one of you would like to begin with?"

"Ablus," McGonogall started, "You said there will be three Professors from each school participating, how do you plan to split such an odd number between the two other schools?"

Before anyone could respond, the doors to the Great Hall were swung open, and a dark clad figure made its way into the room. The man wore a dark cloak, and his cane echoed slightly around the hall as he walked. Harry watched him a moment, noting the dark hair and slight limp in the man's left leg which warranted use of the cane in his hand, before turning to take in the reactions of the assembled.

A couple of Dumbledore's professors had their hands on their wands, though none had drawn. It was clear that none of those present had yet identified the man. Harry saw the flicker of pleased surprise that flitted across Dumbledore's face and knew that the old wizard had figured out the identity of the new arrival. Dumbledore stood from his seat, staring at the man as he approached the table, a small smile barely hidden by his beard.

"My Darks Arts Defense Professor." Grus said into the silence of the hall, his eyes flickering between Dumbledore and the dark-haired man in amusement. "Sirius Black."

Sirius gave a devious grin before bounding up the stairs, paying little attention to his obviously injured leg.

"Ah, Sirius." Dumbledore greeted, and Harry could clearly see the twinkle, even from his distance. "A pleasure to see you looking so hale."

"Hale?!" Sirius exclaimed, stopping suddenly and waving his cane around in the air enthusiastically, "Hale? I'm bloody well crippled!"

"Too bad it isn't a permanent thing." Roscoe said cheekily.

"Oy!" Sirius said, taking a few steps closer to the smirking boy, "Watch yourself, Folkvar, else I might be persuaded to take points."

"It's summer!" Roscoe said, giving an elaborate show of outrage, "You can't take points when we're not in school!"

"Oh yes I can!"

"How do you figure that?" Roscoe said, "I'm not even in your class, you can't take points from me!"

"Yes, he can." Grus said, making both of them click their mouths shut and stare at the Durmstrang Headmaster. Sirius was looking surprised and a bit smug, and Harry wasn't sure that his cousin had full control of his jaw anymore.

"Sirius," Grus said, ignoring his son's attempts at communication, "Glad you could make it."

"Grus." Sirius replied with a respectful nod, leaning on his cane a bit dramatically.

"Mr. Black." McGonagoll said sternly, having gotten over her initial shock at the sight of him, "What in Merlin's name did you do to your leg?"

"Me? Me! I didn't do anything to it!" Sirius exclaimed hotly, wacking the cane against his leg. A muted metallic clang sounded from the impact as the man swung the cane around and pointed its full length directly at Harry. "He did it!"

Harry suddenly found himself in the direct attention of everyone present, something he didn't particularly appreciate, unlike Sirius who all but lived for the lime-light. Giving Sirius a dark look, Harry leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"You should have moved faster, you old mutt." Harry said, trying to hide the rising smirk he could feel forming on his face.

"Mutt?" Sirius said, "I'll have you know I'm purely bred!"

"Leaves you still being old, doesn't it?" Harry retorted.

Sirius spluttered, staring at Harry in incredulity. Harry let his smirk go and raised one of his eyebrows at the man, enjoying the banter.

"He's got a point, Professor." Roscoe said.

"What?" Sirius said, staring between Roscoe and Harry. "He's the one who hit my leg with a bludgeoning hex!"

"Which you cast, as I recall." Harry said.

"It was wicked, really." Roscoe piped up, grinning between them all, "You should have known that Harry could rebound curses with such accuracy, and he really doesn't like the type that explode under his feet."

"Shut it, you." Sirius said, jabbing his cane at the blonde. Roscoe ducked the wild jab, laughing all the while.

"Sit down, Sirius." Grus said with some exasperation. "So we can get on with this."

Sirius obeyed, though he grumbled all the while he limped to the empty seat next to Harry. Harry watched him, amused at his antics. Sirius dropped himself into the chair, and laid the cane across the table in front of him, nudging a pot of tea out of the way a little rougher than he had to.

"How come you can be late, but I can't?" Harry asked with a smile.

"I'm older than you." Sirius said, pointing a finger at Harry and waving it around. "Which means I can do more than you can."

"So says the one who can't dodge." Harry said dryly.

Sirius growled at him, waving his finger threateningly at Harry's nose.

"I did not know that you were teaching, Mr. Black." McGonagoll said from her seat, interrupting the semi-private conversation. Sirius narrowed his eyes at Harry before turning away from him. Harry smiled at him, leaning farther back into his chair.

"For two years now." Sirius said, giving the woman a jaunty grin. "Since Karkaroff took off and Folkvar took over the Headmastership. Someone had to teach Defense."

"Don't know why I let you be the one, either." Grus mumbled, barely loud enough for Harry to hear from down the table.

"This is wonderful news." Dumbledore said, leaning over the table with his hands clasped in front of him. "I had heard some rumors that you were at Durmstrang, Sirius, I am glad you found something that makes you happy after all that has happened to you."

"If only it didn't make me crippled, too." Sirius said, giving Harry an elaborate glare. Harry raised an eyebrow in response, not in the least phased by the act.

"Will you be one of the teachers taking part in the exchange, Sirius?" Dumbledore asked.

"No!" Sirius said, his eyes a little wide. "I'm staying right where I'm at, thank you. I'm just here to keep the two brats in line."

"Oy!" Roscoe said indignantly.

"Three, more like." Grus said, giving his son a quelling look before giving Sirius the same one. Harry managed to be exempt from the look, though he knew he was the third party in question.

"Vich of your Professors vill be taking part zen, Groos?" Madam Maxime asked, sending her own quelling looks between Roscoe and Sirius.

"Professors of Potions, Charms and Astronomy." Grus said, "And only Professor Ulrickson, my Potions Master, has stated a preference to go to Hogwarts rather than Beauxbatons."

Maxime turned to look down the table at Ulrickson, clearly wondering why the older man would not want to go to her school to teach.

"It is far too warm for me, my dear." Ulrickson said, smiling sweetly at her and revealing bright white teeth. "I prefer the colder air."

His reasons seemed to placate the large woman, which surprised Harry a bit, though Ulrickson was old enough to make strange demands and be able to get away with them, if simply because he was old.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, addressing the dark man, who was glaring daggers at Sirius, "You don't mind going to Durmstrang as part of the exchange, do you?"

Snape sneered but gave a curt nod, finally taking his eyes off Sirius long enough to look at Dumbledore. Harry rather thought that the man wasn't terribly pleased at discovering Sirius' whereabouts, especially as it meant the two would be in the same castle for most of the year. Harry wondered if that particular detail had quite sunk in for Snape, or for Sirius.

"Lovely." Dumbledore said. "As with you, Grus, none of my Professors have expressed a preference between which school they go to as part of the exchange. Madame Maxime, what of your staff?"

"Ze same, Dumblydore."

Harry turned out the discussion that followed about which Professors would go where for the up coming year. He caught that there was some debate between Dumbledore and Maxime about which subjects would participate, but otherwise they seemed to be ironing out the details with little fuss. With the odd number of three Professors from each school leaving to go to one of the others it was a little sketchy as to the mechanics of it all. Each school would receive two professors from one school, and one from another.

"How's the leg, anyways?" Harry asked Sirius quietly, turning to take in the other man.

"Mending." Sirius said with a small groan, "Slowly."

"You look all the part of a pureblood snob with that cane, you know." Harry informed him with a smirk.

Sirius glared at him, flicking his arm sharply at the comment, managing to hit the healing cut across his bicep and making Harry flinch slightly. Sirius looked at him with some concern before Harry shrugged.

"Cutting curse from yesterday." He said, tracing the cut over his sleeve with a finger.

Sirius smirked. "I saw it." He said, "Bloody brilliant show."

Harry was about to respond when the mention of his name made him turn his attention back to the meeting going on around them.

"… will be acting as practical assistants." Grus was saying, "And will aid in the set up of the Tasks, arrangements for the incoming students and professors and any other undertaking that may be required while on the grounds of Durmstrang."

"Students, Grus?" McGonagoll asked, clearly not approving, "Shouldn't such tasks fall to the staff of the school?"

"I assure you that they are more than capable." Grus said a bit tightly.

"Who will be in charge of such things?" one of the French Professors asked, Harry vaguely recalled the man's name as being Convallra, or Convallaria, or some such.

"Harry?" Grus asked, directing the conversation to him. "Have you decided who to bring in as principal?"

Harry nodded, straightening in his chair a bit. The Tournament Principal was a position that would head the grounds preparation for the Tournament; a position usually taken up by a professor or school employee. Grus had decided to let Harry and Roscoe choose whomever they liked for the slot – they would be the ones working with him – and the Headmaster had given them no requirements. They could choose anyone. "Viktor Krum." Harry said.

Grus nodded, ignoring the various reactions of those around them. "A good choice. He knows the school grounds well and is a respected alumni, not to mention a past Champion."

"He's also looking to take a year off of the professional pitch," Harry said, "And he was quite pleased by the request to come and direct the set-up of the Tasks. He'll take a room at the school in order to be present full time."

"Good." Grus nodded. "There you have it, Albus." He said turning back to Dumbledore, who had apparently started the line of their conversation. "Between the three of them and their various connections, it won't be a problem. If you have any concerns with the Tournament set-up, accommodations or anything else in vague relation to the whole deal, direct them to one of those three."

"Very well, Grus." Dumbledore said, his eyes traveling between Roscoe and Harry, lingering slightly on Harry. "I have one concern for accommodations."

"For whom?" Harry asked, taking the Headmaster's attention.

"An, assistant of sorts that I would like to accompany my students."

Harry watched him a moment, realizing that Dumbledore was hedging around a delicate issue. "Speak plainly." Harry said, giving the man a level gaze. He never was one to appreciate subtle word games. Dumbledore nodded his acquiescence, before returning Harry's gaze with one of his own.

"My concern is that this man is a Werewolf." Dumbledore said.

Harry blinked, slightly taken aback. He hadn't really expected the man to be that blunt.

"And you vant him to go to ze school?" Maxime asked, staring at Dumbledore in surprise, and not a little horror. "Filled vith children?"

"He is a competent teacher though he is not a Professor now, and a bit of a councilor to some of the students." Dumbledore said with a small smile to the woman, "And beyond his affliction, is no more dangerous than any other human."

"I see." Maxime said, only slightly placated, though she didn't say anything more.

"What is his name?" Harry asked, though he suspected he might already know. Sirius' shifting in the seat next to him certainly didn't help.

"Is it Remus?" Sirius asked a bit excitedly. Dumbledore nodded and Sirius grinned. "Does he know? He'll be ecstatic to be able to come."

Harry shot his godfather a look though Sirius just shrugged it off.

"It won't be a problem." Harry said, turning back to Dumbledore. "The Wolfsbane Potion and a safe place will be provided for him during each moon."

"You do not have to provide the Wolfsbane," Dumbledore said, motioning to Snape.

Harry held up a hand to forestall whatever the man was about to say about his Potions Master. "Wolfsbane is already being made monthly at the school, it is no trouble to increase the dose to include one more."

Dumbledore looked curious about the revelation that there was already a Werewolf presence at Durmstrang, but didn't question him on it. Harry was quite sure that it would get out eventually, and it wasn't that much of a secret anyways. Durmstrang had always held the reputation for a closeness to the Dark Arts and such creatures. It wasn't much of a leap to conclude that the school would be likely to allow a werewolf student into its halls – or more than one.

"Wonderful." Dumbledore said, clearly quite happy with all the arrangements. "Now that we have settled the exchange of some of our Professors, are there any other matters that should be discussed?"

There were no other major subjects of discussion, though Maxime directed a few questions at Harry about making sure her horses would be well cared for. Harry simply assured her that they would be, and that a stable large enough to hold the Palominos would be erected to house them comfortably through the cold winter. At the same time Harry also mentioned that a space would be cleared and prepared for Hogwart's method of travel as well, whatever it may be.

A few scattered comments and questions went around about various things, some between the Professors participating in the exchange, and others directed at Harry or Roscoe about the preparations at Durmstrang. All in all, it was a productive meeting, though Harry knew that most of it could have occurred by Owl, despite the pleasantness of gathering in one room.

"Thank you all for coming and participating," Dumbledore said, taking in the entire table with his gaze, "If there are any more concerns in the following weeks, please direct them to the appropriate party. Enjoy the rest of your summer, and I shall see most of you on the twentieth of September at Durmstrang."

"Where do you think Remus is hiding out?" Sirius asked him as the group around the table broke up. Harry shrugged.

"Who knows?" he said, "Likely the Tower if he isn't up to something."

"Is he coming to Durmstrang with the professors at the beginning of the year, or with the students at the end of September?"

"I'd wager with the students." Harry said, watching absently as the people began to filter out of the hall. "The full moon is only a few days after the start of school."

"I suppose." Sirius said, pulling himself out of his chair and grabbing his cane. Harry rose as well, glancing around to find his cousin. Roscoe had managed to corner Flitwick, no doubt to discuss dueling. Harry wasn't sure which of the two was more excited to talk about the topic.

"Sirius." Dumbledore greeted as he walked up to them. "It is good to see you again."

"Albus." Sirius said, grinning. "You haven't changed a bit."

"I'm too old to change much." Dumbledore said brightly, "Besides, it has only been a few years. How have you been?"

"Well enough." Sirius said, leaning against the table behind him, "I was bored out of my mind there for a while until Folkvar offered me the teaching position at Durmstrang."

"However did you meet?"

Sirius laughed and clapped Harry on the shoulder in response. "Through him and Remus."

"Oh?" Dumbledore looked between the two of them, his curiosity obvious.

"Remus and I met during one of the Dueling Competitions a number of years ago." Harry said, "He knew one of my aunts, and was really interested in a spell I used during one of my fights."

"Ah," Dumbledore said, running a hand down the length of his beard, "No doubt he had many questions."

Harry smiled at the memory, "Enough to get Sirius here worried about Remus and come looking for him." Harry said, pointing to Sirius, "By then my brother and cousin were in on the discussion and my Uncle, Headmaster Folkvar, was trying to keep it from turning into an argument."

"Practically was an argument by the time I got there." Sirius mumbled.

Harry gave him a withering look. "The two occasionally serve as target practice for me and Roscoe."

"Target practice!" Sirius exclaimed.

"You'd be less of a target, and more of an opponent if you actually learned to dodge." Harry said, giving the man a superior look, and pointing to his leg.

"Why you," Sirius spluttered, and waved his cane at Harry threateningly, "Upstart…dirty…little…"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the man's stumbling.

"Mutt!" Sirius all but barked, garnering a few startled glances from those still lingering near the table. Harry stuck his tongue out at him in an overly childish gesture.

"I have heard Filius speak of your family in high regard." Dumbledore said, his face amused at their exchange, "Especially you and your dueling skills."

Harry shrugged, turning away from a growling Sirius. "My cousin and brother and I have been competing for seven years, ever since we could get into the association."

"Your cousin, is the young Folkvar?" Dumbledore asked. Harry nodded, glancing over at the blonde in question. Grus had joined the discussion between Roscoe and Flitwick, though Harry rather thought it looked more like a debate that his uncle was trying to referee.

"It is nice to see Durmstrang come out with students who are so accomplished." The old man said.

"Grus is good for the school." Harry said softly and then turned back to the two men with him. "There were a number of students debating on leaving the school before Karkaroff disappeared. With Grus as Headmaster, most of those students decided to remain. Our reputation has slowly started to change."

"I am glad that something good has come of that loss." Dumbledore said, eyeing the Durmstrang Headmaster over his glasses for a minute. He turned back to them suddenly with a smile. "It has been a pleasure to meet you Mr. Hawthorne."

"Likewise." Harry said.

"And you again, Sirius." Dumbledore laid a hand on Sirius' shoulder, gave him a nod and then turned away from them.

"Take care, Albus." Sirius called after the man. The two watched as Dumbledore offered the large French Headmistress his arm, her height dwarfing his easily, not like it seemed to phase the old man in the slightest.

"I think he's insane." Harry said seriously, watching the old man escort Madam Maxime down the length of the hall.

"What?" Sirius said, staring at him in surprise.

"Well, he is willingly and knowingly sending Severus Snape to the same school that Sirius Black is at." Harry said, turning to look at his godfather, "For a year."

Sirius paled at that and looked around a bit frantically. Not seeing either Dumbledore or the scowling Potions Master, he turned back to Harry. "Help?"

Harry laughed. "No, I don't think I will." He said, still laughing at the man's look. "It'll be far too entertaining to separate the two of you now. Maybe I'll put Snape in that abandoned lab over by the courtyard instead of in the current potions lab."

"What?" Sirius exclaimed, staring at him in a show of panic and betrayal. "But. But that's right by the Defense classroom."

"So?"

"That's right by me!"

Harry smirked at him. "Perhaps you shouldn't throw blame around at innocent bystanders for injuries you got on your own merits."

"You deflected it back at me!"

"You cast it in the first place, and I let the first three go without giving them back." Harry said.

"It was a duel!" Sirius said, leaning on his cane and facing Harry directly.

"Which you were losing." Harry said.

"Because you play dirty."

"I do not!"

"You do and you know it!" Sirius said, pointing a finger at his nose.

"I only play as dirty as my opponent, thank you very much." Harry said, scowling at his godfather. "And you started it."

"Are you two done bickering?" Grus snapped, making the two jump slightly.

"No." Sirius said, glaring at Harry. Harry sniffed and nodded, ignoring the man-child next to him.

"Good." Grus said, looking the two over in a mixture of exasperation and resignation. "Let's go."

Grus turned and made his way down the length of the Great Hall, and Roscoe trailed after him, snickering at the two all the while. Harry shot his cousin a dark look before glancing at Sirius.

"Your fault." Sirius said with a smirk. Harry raised an eyebrow at him and swept his toes at the end of the cane, kicking it out from under the man. Sirius let out a startled sound and barely caught himself from crashing to the floor. As it were, he ended up grappling at the table and still looked terribly undignified.

"See!" Sirius said, standing and waving his cane at Harry, "You play dirty!"

"I give as good as I get, Professor." Harry said, smiling sweetly at him.

"Why you…"

"Come on," Harry quipped, puling Sirius upright by his arm, "The Headmaster said to go, so it's time to go."

Sirius grumbled at him as Harry half dragged the man down the length of the hall, both of them ignoring the amused looks they garnered from the few people lingering in the area. By the time they made it through the main doors of the castle, Sirius had given up his dark mumblings, and was walking on his own again. Harry slowed his own pace to match that of his godfather's, watching as his uncle and cousin walked down the path ahead of them.

"Think Dumbledore suspects anything?" Harry asked quietly. Sirius was silent for a few minutes, clearly thinking on the question.

"No." he said, looking back at the castle behind them, "No, I don't think so. At least not yet."

Harry nodded.

"Though," Sirius said, "You being so close to me and Remus may raise some suspicions. You do look an awful lot like James."

"Remus' past business relations with Aunt Magi is a good connection, but you're right." Harry said, "I do look like James."

"But you also look like your adopted parents." Sirius pointed out. "Cebalran's green eyes, and Auriga's slight form. It works."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose it has to come out eventually, though I'm not so sure I want it to."

Sirius put a hand on his shoulder and looked down at him. "It doesn't ever _have_ to, you know. There is nothing that says you have to be revealed as who you were born as. You are Harry Hawthorne now. I know who you are and your family does, and that's all that really matters in the end."

Harry nodded, feeling slightly comforted, though knowing that his name as Harry Potter was important, simply because of what he was known for. He would have to reveal his identity to some eventually. He just hoped it wouldn't have to be too soon. He had grown fond of the semi-anonymity that being a Hawthorne rather than a Potter gave him.

"Albus is bloody good at knowing things he shouldn't." Sirius said as they crossed the gates, "But he also knows how to keep a secret." Harry nodded, comforted.

"Ready?" Roscoe asked, coming to stand next to Harry. "Dad already apparated out. Said something about paperwork that he had to do."

Harry nodded. "Coming with us?" Harry asked his godfather. "Remus might be at the Tower already. The full moon is tomorrow night."

"You headed there?" Sirius asked.

"Probably in the morning." Harry said. "Konur has to brew the final batch of Wolfsbane yet, so I'll wait for that and take it with me."

"Nah," Sirius said, taking a step back from the two boys, "I'll see you tomorrow then, but I've got some paperwork to do at the Ministry about that bloody house. I might as well get it all done now and not come back again till I have to."

"Alright." Harry said, "Tomorrow then."

"Later!" Roscoe called and disapparated. Harry saw Sirius wave before the world turned around him as he followed his cousin.

oooOoooOoooOooo


	17. Harry Hawthorne 03

**Author's Note:** As with all the installments here (in the Harry Potter Miscellany) these stories are being posted here together in one big mess rather than separately mostly due to the lack of time on my part. I simply haven't the time to fully render so many ideas into stories. With others here, they just aren't worth the effort either, being only partial plot ideas, or (in my eyes) not good enough plot ideas to warrant the time and effort required to write out full stories for them. I post stuff here in this Miscellany because I like sharing, and I know that many of you simply like reading.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is Rowling's. Anything else is likely my own. Done for fun.

"_Any language not English will be in italics. If you pay attention, it should be clear from the story what language is being spoken."_

oooOoooOoooOooo

Hawthorne

By Renatus

03 – Vying for Dominance

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry spent most of the next morning locked in a room with Roscoe. Cebalran had assigned them to master a charm that both were having some trouble with. Considering that they would be unable to leave the room without mastering the charm, neither of the boys was in a terribly good mood.

Harry glared at the thick iron shackle around his right wrist, and then glared down the entire length of the chain that connected him to the wall.

"I could do this, if I didn't have those bloody Slugging Bands on." He growled, tapping his wand irritably against the iron.

"Think that's the point?" Roscoe asked. Harry glanced over at him. Roscoe was in a similar state as Harry, though had long ago settled onto the floor while he repeated the complicated charm on the shackle. Neither had yet to get the desired effect from the spell, though Roscoe had somehow managed to turn the iron around his wrist blue.

"At the moment, I'm not sure that I care what the point is." Harry grumbled.

"Livrato Ferrum!" Roscoe cast the charm again. Harry noticed the dim light of the spell, but otherwise there was no reaction to the charm.

"Blast it." The blonde swore, giving the chain a sharp jerk from his position on the floor.

Harry repeated the spell himself, aiming his wand carefully at the shackle on this wrist. He wasn't sure what would happen if he missed his mark and hit his arm with the charm, but he'd rather not test it out.

"He could have waited until after the Moon." Harry said, giving the iron another dark look.

"Will he let you out if we don't get it before tonight?"

Harry shrugged. "He doesn't have to."

"I suppose not." Roscoe said, watching Harry a moment before flopping to the floor to lie on his back. "At least you'll have company either way."

Harry let out a wordless sound and cast the charm again, trying to force enough of his magic through the restraints to garner some sort of reaction. There was a flash of spell-light and Harry felt the iron around his wrist heat up slightly.

A bit startled at finally getting a response, Harry stared at the shackle for a moment.

"Well?" Roscoe asked, looking at Harry upside-down from his sprawled position on the floor. "Any luck?"

"Maybe." Harry said, and took a couple steps away from the wall, pulling the chain taut. He paused and glanced over at his cousin.

"Well, give it a go!" Roscoe said, still staring at him from the odd angle he had fallen to.

Harry shrugged and eyed the iron around his arm before giving it a good yank, jerking his arm and wrist in the attempt to snap the shackle in two from the force. The chain rattled as it was snapped about and there was the sound of a sharp crack that reverberated through the room. Harry gasped and fell to one knee, grimacing at the pain in his arm.

"Did you break your arm or the irons?" Roscoe asked, rolling to look at Harry upright and supporting himself with his arms.

"Not sure." Harry said, cringing. He looked down at his arm, trying to decide if the sharp pain in his wrist was from a broken bone or just severe bruising. There was a jagged, cracked line running half way through the iron, but it was still wrapped securely around his arm, preventing him from slipping it off over his hand.

"I think it was just the iron." Harry said, rotating his wrist and flexing his fingers slowly. It was painful, but not broken, though the skin around the iron was already darkening in bruises.

"So that crack was the iron?" Roscoe asked. Harry nodded and held up his arm to show off the damage. "Nice."

"Not too bad." Harry agreed, inspecting the cracked iron again. "Far more brittle than it started as at any rate."

"Hey, do you think the spell stacks?"

"What?"

"Stacks." Roscoe said, sitting upright again, "If I cast the spell three times, does the effect of it increase with each casting?"

"So, if you can't cast it once to make the iron brittle enough to break, will casting it numerous times make a difference?"

"Exactly." Roscoe said and turned his wand to the iron around his arm, casting the spell again.

"I suppose it's possible." Harry said, watching his cousin recast the spell in quick succession. "In theory at least, but you know that some spells just don't work that way."

Roscoe shrugged, casting the spell again. Harry watched him a moment longer before turning back to his own iron. He figured that with one more good spell he could manage to break the iron off his arm completely. Focusing on pulling his magic through the restraints, Harry cast the spell, aiming his wand particularly at the point where the crack hadn't made it through the iron. The spell-light flashed and faded, leaving the iron warm against his skin.

Roscoe paused in his casting to look up at Harry again, one eyebrow raised in expectation. Harry ignored him and eyed the iron, pulling the chain taut again and testing the brittleness of the iron slowly. He didn't have much desire to repeat his earlier attempt at breaking the shackle. His arm was sore enough as it was.

"Well?" Roscoe asked, watching Harry with slight impatience. Harry gave him an annoyed look and jerked his arm sharply, letting the chain hold the shackle as he brought his fist towards his shoulder, hoping that the iron would be brittle enough to break and let his arm go. There was a loud, grinding crack, and the iron split, flying towards the wall where it was chained and clattering to the floor. Harry staggered as his own weight came back to him, not having fully expected to get loose.

"Nice!" Roscoe exclaimed with a grin.

Harry inspected his arm, wincing slightly at the ring of dark bruises that circled his wrist, and the jagged scrape that lined the inside of his forearm.

"It works." Harry said, showing Roscoe the injuries to his arm, "Though it isn't the easiest thing to do."

"At least you got out." The blonde said with a pout. "I'm starving!"

Harry watched in amusement as Roscoe toppled back to the floor, the chain connecting him to the wall jangling at the motion.

"Maybe the spell does stack." Harry said, rubbing at his wrist gently.

Rosoce gave an incoherent grunt, waving his hand absently towards the door before going boneless on the floor again.

"Don't worry about me." Roscoe said, staring at the ceiling, "I'll just get to wear this bloody chain and iron until I manage to get it off me."

"It could be worse, you know." Harry said.

"Oh? How?"

"He could have attached it to an iron ball."

"That's worse than the wall?!" Roscoe said, arching his neck backwards to look at Harry upside down.

Harry shrugged. "If he attached the chain to a ball, than you would have to lug it around everywhere. As it is, if you don't master the spell, he can disconnect the chain from the wall and let you just walk around with that."

Roscoe groaned and flopped back to the floor. "Don't give him any ideas, Hal."

Harry laughed and made his way to the door. "I'll think about it."

"What?!"

Harry gave his cousin a jaunty wave with his freed arm and bounced out the doorway, letting the heavy wooden door swing shut on its own.

"Harry!" Roscoe called after him, the chain rattling as he moved, "Don't you dare! Hal!"

Harry smirked at the door as it clicked shut, muffling his cousin's continued calls and threats. He gave his injured arm another look before deciding to let it be to heal on its own. If it continued to be as painful as it was, he'd get it looked at. Giving the door one last smirk Harry made his way down the hall, intent on finding lunch and his brother.

He found Konur first, ensconced in the potions lab on the other side of the cellar from where Cebalran had locked up the two Novices. Pausing in the doorway, Harry watched his brother work through the potions in silence, not wanting to intrude.

"I see you escaped whatever torture dad had for you." Konur said, looking up from the worktable and giving Harry a smirk. "And that Roz hasn't."

Harry returned the grin and wandered into the room. "He was hollering threats at me as I left." Harry said, perching on a tall stool across the table from his brother. The two looked remarkably alike considering they weren't actually blood relatives, but Konur took after his father, and so was far broader and taller than Harry was. It was when the two stood close to each other that such a thing really became noticeable. Konur nearly towered over Harry by a full head.

"Is that what that ruckus was about?" Konur asked. "I had wondered."

Harry hummed in agreement, pleased with himself for riling up their cousin.

"What spell was dad trying to teach you this time?" Konur asked, turning his gaze back to the potion bubbling in front of him.

"The Liveratus Charm." Harry said, and recited the spell words, "Livrato Ferrum. It's supposed to make iron brittle enough to break by hand."

Konur blinked and looked up at him. "What did he do to drum that one into your heads?"

"Clapped us in irons of course." Harry grumped, "And tacked us to the bloody wall."

Konur stared at him a moment before throwing his head back in a deep laugh. Harry stared at his brother with hooded eyes, making a show of ignoring him and being generally disdainful.

"Aren't I glad I decided not to take the First Oath." Konur said, once he could control his laughter again. "I've no desire to spend the morning chained in my own cellar just to learn a spell!"

Harry sniffed, turning his head away from him. "Yes well, Roscoe may well end up wearing that chain to school if he doesn't manage to break out of it before then."

Konur chuckled, though he hadn't really stopped laughing. "That'll be a riot." He said between breaths, "I can't wait to see that happen. How did you mange to get out anyways?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm just that good."

"Hardly." Konur said with a disdainful snort, "What did you do to trick your way out?"

"I didn't trick my way out." Harry retorted, then shifted a bit on his stool, "I just nearly broke my own arm to do it."

Konur's eyebrows arched in surprise and amusement, and Harry sighed, showing off his injured wrist.

"Impressive." Konur said, inspecting the damage, "Is iron a bit harder than you though it'd be?" he asked with a smirk.

"Shut it!" Harry snapped, swiping his hand towards his brother's head, "I got out, didn't I?"

"I suppose so." Konur said, eyeing him with barely continued amusement.

Harry watched him with a hooded glare as Konur returned his attention to the potion, stirring the simmering blue liquid slowly as he added a powdered ingredient. Harry was a fair hand at potions, and vaguely recognized the one before him as being a strong pain reliever, but his talent lay in spell casting, not in subtle magical manipulations of ingredients. Konur, however, had a natural talent and inclination for the intricate art that was potions making.

"You know," Harry said, as Konur put out the fire below the cauldron, "Ulrickson is going to Hogwarts this year."

Konur looked up at him a bit sharply, before returning his gaze to finishing the potion. "He's one of the Professors in the exchange, then?"

"Yeah. And we're getting Hogwart's Potions Master in the deal."

"Who is he?"

Harry waited for Konur to pause in his process of decanting the potion before continuing. "Severus Snape."

"Really?" Konur asked, looking up from his task, "I've read a few of his articles, he's a good brewer."

Harry shrugged. "Sirius doesn't like him much, says he's a greasy git, but Remus speaks enough good about him."

"Your Godfather is biased." Konur stated.

"True, but Snape spent the entire meeting yesterday glowering at everyone and sneering at Sirius. He seems a bit biased himself, really."

Konur shrugged and finished the decanting process, stoppering the vials he had filled with a cork. "He's put out a lot of good theories." He said as he began labeling each bottle in neat, bold Cyrillic. "It'll be interesting to have a different teacher for a year."

"I suppose so." Harry conceded, nicking one of the vials before his brother picked it up to label. "Pain reliever?"

"Gensens." Konur said with a nod.

"Lovely." Harry put the vial in his robe pocket, ignoring his brother's annoyed look. "Is the Wolfsbane ready?"

"Over there." Konur said, waving to the corner of the room. Harry glanced over and spotted two large, bauble-like vials that held the smoking mercury liquid. It would keep well enough in the glass for the day, but would need to be drunk before night fell. Harry walked over and picked them up, grasping the narrow necks of the vials between the fingers of one hand.

"Don't break them." Konur said, eyeing Harry's grip on the two glass vials, "There's a few basic charms on them, but if you drop them hard enough they will break."

Harry nodded, shifting his grip to make sure they wouldn't slip out of his grasp. "Thanks."

Konur nodded, pulling his wand and directing the selection of labeled pain reliever vials over to the cabinet along the wall. Harry watched the bottles dance through the air for a second before turning to leave the room.

"Say hello to Remus for me." Konur called out, already starting another potion, "Father's given me a list of potions that I need to complete before the week is out, otherwise I would join you."

"Don't worry about it." Harry said with a smile, "Remus is coming to Durmstrang with Dumbledore's group, so he'll be around all year."

Konur gave him a startled look at the news.

"See you in a couple days." Harry said with a grin. Konur shook his head and waved him away, lighting a fire beneath the cauldron and mumbling to himself as Harry left.

Harry took the stairs at the end of the hall two at a time, keeping an eye on the precious vials in his hand as he exited the cellar onto the main floor of the manor.

The house was empty save for a few working house elves that were bustling about the dining room. From the looks of things, his parents and old uncle had just had their lunch. Harry gave the elves a nod as he poked his head into the room.

"Tindy?" Harry asked an older elf. The elf paused in her chore and turned large round eyes to him. "Have you seen my mother?"

"Mistress Auriga is in the stables, young Master." Tindy said, pointing her finger in the direction of the barns.

"Thanks." Harry said as he plucked a sandwich from the table. Tindy bowed him out, pushing two more sandwiches into his hand, and trying to give him a full glass of pumpkin juice. When it became evident that Harry couldn't carry the sandwiches, the juice and the two vials of potions at once, Tindy charmed a platter to follow him around with the pumpkin juice and four extra sandwiches on it.

Eyeing the platter of food floating behind him with some amusement, Harry made his way out of the manor to the grounds. The manor itself wasn't all that large, as far as manors go, though it certainly held its fair share of space and hidden nooks. The grounds, however, were expansive.

The Hawthorne family's manor was situated in the small valley of Blithen Gulch, with rolling meadows along one side and a thick forest on the other that butted up against the steep rocky slope of the vale. The house sat on the border of the river and forest, with a few bridges along the banks leading to and from the grounds proper to the untended fields and woodlands surrounding it. The family had long ago made the property unplottable, and over the many generations of spells and wards it had all but ceased to exist outside of the family.

The three stable buildings were situated a bit away from the house, hidden from easy view by the gardens and the shade of the forest they sat next to. Harry found his mother on the far end of them, crouched in the shadow of a large tree that had managed to grow outside of the forest's boundaries.

"Need a hand?" Harry asked, setting his half eaten third sandwich on the platter hovering at his shoulder, and eyeing the small form at his mother's feet.

Auriga paused in her task and looked up at him with a grin. "Only if you want to track down a Niffler nest."

Harry paused in his step, leaving him with one foot barely touching the ground. "Er, I think I'd rather not, actually."

His mother laughed, "I didn't think so."

"Why do you want to track Nifflers?" Harry asked, crouching where he stood, and staying a good few meters away from her and the suspicious creature she was hovering over.

"This young one seems to have lost its way." Auriga gestured to the ball of fur at her feet, "I need to find its mother before it goes hungry. It's too young to fend for itself."

"Doesn't stop them from going after anything shiny." Harry said, eyeing the furball warily.

"No, I suppose it doesn't." she said with a slight smirk.

"What is it with you and Nifflers, anyways?" he asked, keeping a wary eye on both his mother and the creature. "You breed herd creatures with claws or horns or sharp teeth, yet you have this strange attraction to Nifflers, of all the beastly things."

Auriga laughed, startling the furry thing at her feet. The young Niffler scurried about her, scrambling over her toes and around her ankles before settling on top of her right foot. Harry couldn't see its face or feet for all the fur, but he was pretty sure that the creature was nibbling at the silver brackets of her boots.

"Harry, love," she said between chuckles, "Only you would consider a Niffler pup to be a beast and a Hippogriff to be a creature."

"Hippogriffs don't try to chew through your ear to get to the silver that's through it." Harry grumped, rubbing at the scar on his left ear.

"You shouldn't have let Mag talk you into piercing your ears."

"I knew it was a punishment."

"It wasn't." she said, "originally."

Harry's eyes widened and he glanced between his mother and the Niffler at her feet. "You're the one who handed the thing to me!" Harry said, pointing to the Niffler, "And it was the day after I came back from Aunt Mag's with the earrings."

"I don't keep Nifflers around the grounds as pets, dear." His mother said, "They're far too troublesome. Besides, you were fourteen, and far too young to be putting chunks of metal through your ears, especially those thick hoops."

"That beast tried to chew my ear off!" Harry said, ignoring the part about him not having been allowed to get the piercings in the first place. "You told me it was harmless!"

"It's a Niffler. Of course it's harmless."

"Harmless, she says." Harry grumped, eyeing the furball, "Until it sees something shiny, the greedy little monsters."

"You should have listened to your mother." She said, waving a finger at him dramatically, "And then perhaps you wouldn't have had trouble with a harmless little Niffler."

Harry didn't say anything, and just glowered at her, keeping one eye on the furry monster sitting on her feet. He wouldn't put it past the woman to hand him a Niffler again, just to see him struggle to keep the beast away from his ears. She had never approved of his choice of adornments. She may have let him get away with a single thin hoop or stone, but to have put two thick metal rings in his ears, was not only going against what she had said not to do, but also blatantly opposing her.

It was one of the few times Harry had ever done something against his parents' say. Having his slightly rebellious Aunt egging him on had not made it any more difficult. Having Roscoe do the same thing right next to him had made it all considerably easier.

Of course the punishments from both his parents hadn't been pleasant, though Harry recalled his mother's Niffler punishment far more vividly than his father's switch. All told, Harry was rather surprised that he was allowed to keep the earrings, especially after taking the First Oath.

"You're off to the Tower then?" she asked, her eyes still mirthful.

"Yeah." Harry said, waving the vials of Wolfsbane, "I should be back by noon in two days."

"Cyrille will be back tomorrow morning, I should think." She said.

"She can come by the Tower with Roscoe, if he can get away." Harry said. "I'll make sure it's safe for her."

"I'll consider it."

Harry nodded and turned to go, giving the Niffler pup at his mother's feet one last glowering stare.

"Take care, Harry." She said, smirking slightly at his look.

Harry scowled, but gave her a smile as he walked away back to the house. Harry dropped the floating lunch tray off in the dining room, and picked up his pre-packed bag of clothing from his room. He had not seen his elderly uncle or his father, though he suspected that Barnabe might have made his way into the cellar to taunt Roscoe by that time.

Harry dropped a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace, clutched the vials of Wolfsbane to his chest protectively as he stepped into the green flames and called out the Tower's name.

Harry shot out of the floo with his usual lack of grace and decorum. He rose to his feet, sputtering slightly at the soot that had managed to make its way into his mouth and up his nose.

"Blasted Floo network." Harry swore, "I'm going to be sneezing green soot for the rest of the bloody day."

His grumblings were answered by a hearty laugh, which made him look up and glare at the werewolf slouched in the chair across the room. "I've never met another Wizard who had so much trouble with the Floo." Remus said, watching him with a great amount of amusement. "Even James managed to land on his feet by the time he graduated Hogwarts."

"Oh, shut it." Harry grumped, waving his wand around him in cleaning spells. "I don't know how you people can stand that mangy floo network."

"You just don't like it because it shoots you out on your arse." Remus pointed out. Harry glared at him.

"Do you want your Wolfsbane or not?" Harry asked waving the vials in his hand tauntingly, sneering at the werewolf in a passing imitation of the looks Snape had given Sirius.

"That's cruel." Remus said, eyeing him warily.

"No, it's revenge."

"Sirius is right." Remus said, looking at Harry sideways, "You do play dirty."

"Don't ever let Sirius here you say that." Harry grunted and tossed one of the vials towards the other man. Remus caught the potion with little effort.

"Compliments of Konur." Harry said as Remus uncorked vial he had caught. The potion swirled as the cork was released, smoke wafting up and pouring over the lip of the vial. "Mum says hello."

"How is she?" Remus asked eyeing the smoking vial with a mixture of distaste and reluctance.

"Plotting my demise again." Harry said, falling into a chair by the fireplace and waving the second vial of Wolfsbane in front of his nose.

"Your demise?"

Harry nodded, watching the werewolf down the contents of the vial in a far quicker pace than should have been normal. "She found a Niffler pup from somewhere."

Remus put the empty vial on the table and raised an eyebrow at him, clearly about to laugh at him again.

"Don't." Harry said, pointing at him warningly, "Don't even do it."

"You know you deserved that Niffler."

"Doesn't mean you have permission to laugh your fool head off at me for it." Harry said.

"Perhaps not, but it's one of the funniest stories I've ever heard, and believe me, I've heard plenty." Remus said, chuckling slightly.

Harry huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, slouching deeper into his chair as he glowered at the man. Remus just smirked back at him, though he refrained from laughing. No doubt he was looking forward to whatever mischief his mother had in for him with the young Niffler.

Harry eyed the Wolfsbane in his hand again and uncorked the vial. The smoke wafted up out of it, warm as it seemed to float and coat his fingers. Harry curled his lip slightly and put the vial to his lips, smelling the subtle scents of the potion. He held his breath, tipped it back and let the smoking potion pour down his throat in one smooth quick motion. It slid down his throat slickly, leaving a strange lack of taste or texture on his tongue.

"Sirius here?" Harry asked after a time.

"Raiding the kitchens last I knew." Remus said, waving a hand in the general direction of the doorway. "He got here this morning, complaining about fools and politicians."

"There's a difference?" Harry asked.

"That's about what I said."

"I assume he got everything in order then?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I think so. Though he didn't seem too inclined to talk about it. He just kept rambling on about the shortcomings of every desk jockey he had to deal with." Remus said, "I finally told him to shut up, and he stormed off mumbling about food."

"How long ago was that?"

"A whole bloody hour!" Sirius said as he strode into the room, the cane muffled as it struck the carpet with his steps. "And I'm still agitated."

"The Ministry couldn't have been that bad." Harry said.

"No, it's worse." Sirius said throwing himself across the sofa in the corner of the room, "It's the bloody idiot Ministry workers that are so blasted…" Sirius ended in a growl, baring his teeth and unable to actually finish his sentence.

"I kind of feel sorry for the poor sod he's thinking about." Harry said, watching his godfather steam and grumble about the Ministry.

"I'm feeling sorrier for myself actually." Remus said. "I have to listen to him complain."

"We could truss and gag him." Harry offered.

"There is that."

"NO!" Sirius exclaimed sitting upright suddenly and glaring at the two of them. "No! No and no! Don't even think about it."

"Too late." Harry said.

"You little twerp." Sirius said, narrowing his eyes at him, "I told you, Remus! I told you he plays dirty!"

"I know." Remus said.

"You should have seen what he did to me!" Sirius continued, pointing his whole arm at Harry and staring at Remus, "He bloody well kicked the cane out from under me! He plays dirty."

"That wasn't playing dirty," Harry said, "That was getting even."

"That's not nearly as bad as him threatening to withhold Wolfsbane." Remus commented.

Sirius' jaw dropped and he stared at Harry in elaborate shock and disbelief. "Withhold the Wolfsbane…that's beyond dirty."

"Hardly a balanced retaliation to a companionable laugh." Remus said.

"Companionable?" Harry asked.

"Withhold the Wolfsbane…" Sirius said again, still staring at Harry in mock horror, "How cruel. How unusual. How utterly diabolical."

"Rather Marauder-ish if you ask me." Harry said, though he was ignored by both of them.

"Especially since I was one of his dad's closest friends." Remus said.

"Practically family." Sirius said, "His own honorary uncle."

"I thought it was a rather good comeback, personally." Harry said, eying the two older men carefully. He had a feeling he knew where the whole drama was going. His comment was ignored again.

"He's been led astray." Sirius continued, "I'm sure of it, Remus."

"Met some horrible dark wizard and got pulled to the dark side." Remus agreed.

"You think there's any chance for him?"

"It might be slim."

"Oy!" Harry said, trying to interrupt their train of thought.

"But if there is even a sliver of hope," Sirius exclaimed standing and posing over the couch dramatically, "We must pursue it!"

"Indeed we must!" Remus said, standing as well.

Harry stared between them, half amused and half annoyed with them, while trying to be discreet in his eyeing of the two doors and single window in the room. It hadn't taken the two as long as it usually did to gang up on him.

Sirius opened his mouth to spout more over the top, hero-ish monologue and Harry took the opportunity to bolt for the door furthest from them. He heard the two scramble after him as he sprinted through the other room and into the hallway. The sound of Sirius's cane thumping along side his steps followed him.

"You can't escape the Marauders!" Sirius's voice called after him. Harry slammed the door shut, barely missing his godfather's nose and sent a quick locking charm at the handle as Remus' barely-there footsteps met him in the hallway.

Harry faced off against Remus in the hall, as Sirius sent a curse at the door. Harry wasn't entirely sure if the curse was of the vocal or magical kind.

"Really, Harry." Remus said around a small smirk, "Withholding the Wolfsbane from your honorary uncle."

"It's heartless!" Sirius called through the door.

"Well, you know what they say." Harry said, watching Remus's wand hand carefully. "All is fair in love and war."

Remus smirked, "Silentenim leges inter arma."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Remus, are you spouting latin again?" Sirius called through the door. "What in Merlin's name does that mean?"

"Sirius, you went to latin-based magical school and you can't speak the language?" Remus yelled at the door.

"Hogwarts didn't have a latin class!" Sirius said.

Harry rolled his eyes and heard Remus give a put-upon sigh. "It means 'Laws are silent in times of war' Sirius." Remus said.

"He's just returning the declaration of war is all." Harry quipped, leveling a look at the werewolf.

"Drawing the lines." Remus said, with a distinctly feral grin, curling his hand into a loose fist. Harry copied his movements, feeling the tips of his fingers brush against his palm.

Harry moved first, throwing a quick jab at the werewolf's stomach with his left fist as he jumped across the hallway to him. Remus caught Harry's wrist, twisting it around and forcing him to stand upright. Harry used the momentum to power his other hand, aiming at the man's shoulder. His punch connected, though awkwardly, as Remus slid around him, pulling his arm behind his back.

Harry twisted sharply, breaking the werewolf's grip on his arm and turned to face the other man. Remus took hold of a shoulder and pushed him into the wall. Harry stumbled, his feet twisted oddly, and ended up slamming into the wood paneling of the wall harder than he otherwise would have. He felt a rush of foreign, familiar instincts and growled at the werewolf, baring his teeth in a snarl.

Remus's eyes flashed, their warm brown shifting to a bright gold, and Harry suddenly found a strong hand around his neck, pinning him harshly against the wall. Remus growled back at him, his teeth glinting as he snapped his jaw together in a feral bite, barely centimeters above Harry's nose.

Harry strained against the hands holding him, but Remus had the advantage, and he only succeeded in making the werewolf tighten his grips, likely bruising both his shoulder and his neck. Remus growled again, his eyes narrowed into challenging slits. Harry couldn't hold back the low answering rumble in his throat, but it was quiet in comparison, and he didn't physically struggle against the man.

A sudden burst of light went off across from them, and the door swung open, revealing Sirius with wand in hand and a triumphant grin across his face.

"I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hacked!" Sirius said, jumping into the hallway with a flourish and dramatic wave of his cane, pushing its butt-end against Harry's chest above his heart. Harry and Remus stared at him, both quite surprised by the sudden intrusion, but even more so by Sirius' choice of words.

"Was that…Macbeth?" Remus asked, his voice distinctly rougher than normal.

Sirius looked back at them, his mouth parted as if he was about to say something before he looked between the two with narrowed eyes. Harry was still pinned to the wall, both by Remus' hand around his throat and Sirius' cane on his chest. Harry could see the gold hue of Remus' eyes, and knew that his own were likely the same shade. The heavy feeling of challenge and confrontation was nearly palpable in the air.

"Did I miss something?" Sirius asked.

Remus took a deep breath, turning his attention back to Harry and pulled away. Harry could tell that it took him some effort to release him. He felt his own instincts pulling at him to take advantage of the freedom. He slouched slightly as he was released, realizing then that Remus had nearly had him off his feet.

"What's happened?" Sirius asked, watching the two of them carefully, still holding Harry against the wall with the cane, the force of it slightly more firm against his chest.

Remus stepped away from Harry, putting a good couple meters between them, and leaning against the wall across the hall. "Harry's Wolf is vying for dominance." He said, looking at Harry with tired golden eyes.

"What?" Sirius asked, staring at Remus.

"I may be an Alpha, Sirius." Remus said, "But I'm not a strong one. Harry's Wolf, however, is. He's contending for leadership, for dominance."

"I thought that wouldn't happen for a while." Sirius said.

"He's sixteen." Remus said, "And he's training to be a War-Mage. It's perfectly normal for him to want to take control, especially considering how strong his Wolf is showing itself it will be."

"So…" Sirius said, looking at Harry from the corner of his eyes, "You two are going to duke it out, or what?"

Harry let out a short laugh. "Something like that."

"It's only really a problem during the Moon." Remus said. "When the Wolf is strongest."

"Well if you know Harry's Wolf is stronger, than why fight at all?" Sirius asked, "Why not just let him become the boss?"

"It's not that easy." Remus said, "I'm older, I've been a werewolf for much longer, and I'm an authority figure to Harry as an adult, a family member and a werewolf. My Wolf won't be able to relinquish its dominance to another werewolf who's barely out of pup-hood, no matter how strong he is."

Harry sighed, leaning further back against the wall. "It means even though the human sides of us can handle the switch of leadership, the Wolves won't. They'll fight for it either way."

Sirius looked back and forth between them for a minute. "Well, we knew this would happen eventually, right? It's just a bit sooner than expected."

Harry and Remus both nodded.

"But we'll be at Durmstrang for the next Moon, and both Hogwarts and Beauxbatons will be at the school this year." Harry said. "It's not going to be too easy. I don't think we'll be able to contain the wolf's instincts completely, even during the new moon. The week surrounding the full moon is going to be rough until it's over."

"What?" Sirius asked, grinning devilishly at them, "You can't plan a duel or something?"

Harry grinned and shook his head, seeing Remus mirror his motions.

"Wolves are guided by instincts, Sirius." Remus said with a suffering smile, "Not logic."

"What about Harry?" Sirius asked, poking Harry in the chest with the cane and eliciting a "Hey!" from the youth. "He can keep his mind. Well, sort of anyways."

"Harry's mind isn't logical, even when he's human." Remus said dryly, "What makes you think his wolf would be?"

"Well, your mind is logical when you're human and not when you're a wolf." Sirius retorted, "It makes sense that Harry would be logical as a wolf since he isn't as a human."

"But he's not." Remus said.

"Oy!" Harry said, "You don't have to make it sound like that's a bad thing."

"Any matter," Remus said, ignoring Harry's indignant cry, "We will have to be extra cautious during full moons until one of us wins the bid for dominance. That includes anybody that may be with us. If we start fighting seriously, we may not be able to control our actions fully. Someone could get hurt."

"Even with the Wolfsbane?" Sirius asked, looking slightly worried.

Remus nodded. "I haven't heard of the Wolfsbane being tested on two warring Alphas. I don't know if it will overcome the instincts to fight for control or not. It may not be strong enough to overpower the Wolf's instincts to fight."

Harry ran a hand through his hair tiredly. "I'm sorry, Remus." He said.

"Don't." Remus said sharply. Harry snapped his eyes up to the other man, half startled and half angry at the command. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."

Harry sighed and nodded. "Still. It was unexpected."

"And brought on by our play-fighting." Remus said. "I ran you into the wall harder than intended, and your Wolf retaliated."

"It wasn't your fault either." Harry said.

"Accident!" Sirius barked, interrupting them both. "Stop trying to blame yourselves and not let each other carry fault. It's driving me barking mad."

Harry gave his godfather a withering look before looking back towards Remus.

"Cyrille might come by with Roscoe." Harry said before Remus could give a retort to Sirius. "We should leave the Tower tonight."

"That…would be a good idea." Remus said. "We will have to warn them to be on their guard. Konur and Roscoe can take care of themselves. They can come by, I suppose, during the Moon, but I'm not sure how comfortable I am about it. I don't want your sister around if we're fighting, though."

"Me neither." Harry said. "She doesn't need to see that. I don't want her to see that."

"The woods it is then." Sirius said morosely. "And it's supposed to rain tonight."

"Looks like we're getting wet, then." Harry said, finally pushing the cane off his chest.

"Yippee." Sirius said, staring out the window at the end of the hallway. The sky was already dark with heavy clouds. Harry sighed. Spending the full moon out in the rain was rarely a great prospect.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry slipped into the Tower just before dawn. He stood inside the door and shook himself, spraying water and mud across the floor and walls of the entrance hall. He looked around at the mess and smirked mentally, knowing that Sirius would raise a complaint for dirtying his home. Harry had left his two uncles in the field beyond the wood chasing each other's tails. He could hear their occasional barks and howls still some distance away. He crossed the entrance hall at a walk, the nails of his toes clicking softly on the stone flooring. As he ascended the stairwell he was greeted by the form of a slim, grey fox, watching him.

Harry paused, then continued, having identified the creature as family – as Pack; as Roscoe in his Animagus form. Harry stopped at the top of the stairs next to his cousin, his own dark fur contrasting against the fox's light grey and tan. Harry's werewolf form was nearly five times larger than Roscoe's fox, yet Harry knew that his wolf was on the smaller end of the scale for the werewolves of his type. Remus's wolf was taller and broader than his own.

"Harry!" a voice yelled from the hall. Harry looked down the length of the hallway and saw a small girlish figure running at him, arms outstretched. He let the blond haired girl throw herself around his neck, bracing himself from toppling them both back down the stairs.

"Where were you?" the girl asked into his neck, her voice muffled by his damp fur, "you went outside and Roscoe wouldn't let me go out!"

"They told us not to, Cyrille." Roscoe said. Harry turned his head, finding his cousin instead of a fox sitting next to him. Harry wiggled out of the girl's embrace and gave his cousin a wolfish grin.

"Don't look at me like that." Roscoe said, glaring at him as he crossed his arms over his chest. Metal clinked at the motion and Harry glimpsed a length of chain connected to his arm. Harry would have laughed if he could. Instead a sound somewhere between a growl and a feline purr rumbled from his throat.

Roscoe narrowed his eyes at him and swung his leg out in a sweeping kick. Harry jumped over it and bounded down the hallway a bit before turning back to his cousin and sister.

"Roscoe!" Cyrille said, cuffing the blonde on the head, "Be nice!"

"Oy!" Roscoe exclaimed, "You be nice too!"

"It's not fair to fight Harry while he's transformed!"

Harry grinned, baring his teeth and sat back on his haunches to watch the two start their fight.

"Oh yes it is! It's more than fair! No! You're right! It is unfair! Unfair to me! He's stronger and faster that way!" Roscoe hollered, pointing down the hall at Harry from his seat on the floor, "And he has sharp teeth and claws!"

Cyrille narrowed her eyes at him, balling her hands into small fists at her side. To Harry, the sight was almost comical. Even with Roscoe sitting and Cyrille trying to tower over him, his cousin was still nearly taller than his small sister. She was nearly at the age to be ready for school, but her size and childish nature belayed her age to nearly everyone. Harry even had a hard time keeping it in mind that Cyrille was ten and not six.

"If I had my wand, Roscoe Folkvar." Cyrille threatened.

"You'd what? Hex me?"

Cyrille all but shook in her frustration, and Harry as sure that if she had her wand Roscoe wouldn't be so careless in his taunting of her. His young sister was small, but her wand work was impressive, especially when her emotions were high, a fact that the three boys knew very well, Roscoe especially.

Harry watched them bicker, a bit disappointed that Cyrille didn't have her wand. Roscoe remained sitting, but was strained upright while Cyrille glared down at him, her hands fisted on her hips.

Harry winced as a sharp pain ran down the length of his spine. It came again and he felt his back curl in response, his head lowering to his chest as he tried to endure the pain. It spread out from the small of his back, running along his bones as if lightning traveled in his marrow, down to the tips of the claws on his toes.

He couldn't hold in the pained whimper that bubbled out from his gut.

"Harry!" Cyrille called, her voice surprised and frightened, but he couldn't bring himself to look up at her. An itching grew on his skin, spreading and burning as the sinking of the moon took his wolfish form with it.

He was vaguely aware of Roscoe ushering his sister out of the hallway, away from his changing. Harry felt his body flex and contort sharply. He felt his toes curl, digging his thick nails into the floor. Tremors shook the muscles in his limbs and his joints snapped painfully, somewhere between wolf and human. Though he managed to remain on his feet it was a near thing.

As the sun's rays broke through the hallway window, Harry threw his head back violently and screamed – the sound began as a howl, but ended in a hoarse human scream.

Harry took deep gulping breaths, letting his body recover from the violent change of the Lycanthropy. He became more aware of his surroundings slowly, realizing that he had kept his footing, though it left him crouched on his hands and knees, staring at the hardwood floors of the second floor hallway.

"Hal?" Roscoe's voice came from down the hallway.

Harry blinked and looked up, seeing his cousin in the doorway of the room near the stairs. "Alright, Hal?" Roscoe asked, coming to kneel by his side.

Harry nodded, not yet ready to try his vocal chords. He let Roscoe help him stand, needing the momentary support as his legs tried to remember how it was to walk upright again. The first bit of time after the transformation always left him disoriented and shaky. Though his War Mage training helped him to shorten that span of time considerably, his father and superior still viewed it as a weakness, not that he blamed Harry for it. However, his Lycanthropy would hinder him in his testing for his mastery and Cebalran made sure Harry was well aware of it. Harry knew that whoever tested him for mastership would challenge him when he was most vulnerable; in the minutes that his body was caught between two forms, blinded by the pain and crippled by the contortions.

"That seemed more painful than normal. "Roscoe said softly, keeping one hand under Harry's arm.

"Yea," Harry said gruffly, "It was."

"I think you scared Cyrille a bit."

Harry winced. "Where is she?"

"In the den."

Harry nodded, eyeing the doorway Roscoe had come from. Cyrille stood beyond it, peeking around the door jam at them. Her face held traces of fear and worry and her eyes were moist.

"Cyrille." Harry called to her, hoping that he hadn't upset her too much. He tried usually to change away from where she could see or hear, but he had been distracted by the night with Remus and had been too happy to see her that he had lost track of time. And then the change had been more painful than it was typically. He could not hold back the sounds of pain; the howls – which to others, especially the young – were horrible things to hear come from a loved one.

"Harry?" she whispered.

_"Are you alright, little sister?"_ Harry said in French, appealing to her love of that language. He held one arm open to her, while the other leaned against Roscoe.

Cyrille watched him a moment, her emotions conflicting before nodding vigorously and running to him. Harry wrapped his arm around her as she buried her face in his stomach.

_"I'm sorry, Cyrille,"_ Harry said, _"If I scared you."_

The girl sniffed and pulled back from him a bit. "I'm not scared." She said in English, puckering her lips in defiance. "And don't you do that again!" She glared and punched him hard on his thigh. "I thought you were dying or something!"

"Alright, alright." Harry smiled down at her wryly. She looked small and delicate but she learned how to pack a punch at an early age – as most of the Hawthorne children did – and she wasn't the least bit afraid to use her skills when someone made her angry, or claimed that she had any fear at all. Harry wondered and not for the first time, if their father would consider her for the War Mage training. Though despite the girl's inherent strength, Cyrille wasn't all too interested in becoming a War Mage after her father and brother.

She was very much like her mother, Harry thought; though Cyrille's attitude and spunk was untempered compared to Auriga's.

"I need a shower." Harry said, glancing down at his rumpled jeans and dirt covered skin. "Cyrille, could you find me a robe?"

His sister narrowed her eyes at him but nodded and went.

"And a Medi-Witch." Roscoe added under his breath, eyeing a nasty looking gash across his chest. Harry placed a hand over the wound, feeling the sting and burn of it. It wasn't terribly deep but it crossed from his collarbone to his ribs, cutting straight through the faint skull and snake mark over his heart. The scratches were a parallel set of four clawed lines, the center two deeper than the outer.

"What did you run into?" Roscoe asked, "A bear?"

"Remus." Harry said a bit absently as he inspected the rest of himself for more wounds.

"Remus? What in Merlin's name were you two fighting over?"

Harry shrugged, feeling the soreness of his body at the motion. "Any reason is just an excuse, really."

Roscoe stared at him, crossing his arms over his chest, causing the chain attached to his wrist to rattle. Harry tried to hide his amusement that Roscoe still had the chain on but was no longer tacked to the wall in the cellar.

"Two alphas, right." Harry said wryly.

"Right. Already?"

Harry nodded.

"Bugger that." Roscoe exclaimed, "With school starting in three weeks?"

"It may get a bit rough." Harry said.

"I'll say!"

"Harry." Cyrille called, running up the stairs with a black robe clutched in her arms. Harry leaned away from Roscoe, steadying himself on his own feet again. He thanked his sister, wrapping the thick material around his shoulders. He hadn't realized he had been cold until the warmth of the robe engulfed him.

"You have any healing serums on you, Roz?" Harry asked as he pulled the buttons on the robes closed up the left side of his chest. Roscoe pulled a small vial from the confines of his robes and handed it to him. Harry inspected it momentarily, recognizing the blue tint to the clear liquid as being a mild restorative with a kick of antiseptics. It would not heal much of the surface wounds, but would likely stop any bleeding and keep the wounds from infection. Harry knocked back the entirety of the vial, ignoring Roscoe's sputtered objections to wasting half of it.

"Hey Harry!" Cyrille drew his attention, practically jumping in front of him. "You'll never guess what I did yesterday!"

"Will you give him a chance to guess?" Roscoe asked.

Cyrille threw a glare at him, which was more cute than much else before dismissing him and looking back up at Harry.

"What then?" Harry asked, smiling at Roscoe's grumbling.

"I took the Placement Entrance Tests!"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"The PETs! I took the PETs yesterday at Durmstrang." Cyrille said, bouncing slightly on her toes. "Mom said I can go! I passed them Harry!"

"You took the PET exams?" Harry asked, not quite registering the implications of her words, or not wanting to.

"Yes!" She said in exasperation, planting her hands on her hips and narrowing her eyes at him. "I'm going to Durmstrang with you."

Harry stared at her, caught somewhere between proud, protective and scared out of his mind at the prospect of his little sister heading off to school, no matter that he'd be at said school to keep an eye on her.

"You're too young, squirt." Roscoe said with a smirk, ruffling her hair.

"I am not! I'm ten and one half years old!" Cyrille smacked his hand away.

"Gotta be eleven I hear."

"No you don't! Harry was only ten when he went to first year."

"And he had training from a WarMage before he went." Roscoe said, attempting to ruffle her hair again.

"So do I, you big oaf!" Cyrille spat at him, aiming a quick kick to Roscoe's legs. The blonde was caught off guard and took the strike square in his shin. He grunted at the impact, jumping backwards out of the girl's range.

"You got what you deserved you know." Harry said, watching dispassionately as his cousin nursed the injury. Cyrille stared Roscoe down, even though he was nearly twice her height, she somehow managed to look a bit imposing against him.

"Did I hear that you are attending Durmstrang, little Cyrille?" a voice said from the stairs. Harry glanced over, having recognized Remus and Sirius' footsteps enter the entrance hall below them while Roscoe was baiting Cyrille into an argument.

"Remus!" Cyrille called, "Sirius! Guess what!" she bounded down the hall to the two men, "I'm going to Durmstrang this year!"

"I thought that's what I heard." Sirius said, scooping the girl up and spinning her around once. Cyrille half screamed, and half laughed at the motion. Harry wasn't sure if she was trying to get Sirius to put her down or encourage him to continue spinning her around him.

"That is good news." Remus said as he joined Harry and Roscoe. The other werewolf was in about as bad a shape as Harry was. One of his ears had been bloodied and a quickly bruising mark on his shoulder showed the shadowy shape of a bite. Harry recalled inflicting that wound in a particularly nasty bit of fighting, refraining himself from doing a great amount of damage, but still bruising and drawing blood with his sharp canines.

"It's a bit surprising, really." Harry said, "I didn't know mother was considering letting her go a year early."

"This year is going to be rough." Roscoe grumped, plopping down to the floor with a pout, rubbing a hand down his bruised shin and shifting the length of chain to lay on the floor next to him.

Harry nodded. "It is definitely going to be interesting."

"A good finale for your last year at school, I'd say." Remus said with a rare devious smirk.

Roscoe groaned at their feet, causing the two werewolves to laugh.

oooOoooOoooOooo


	18. Harris House 02

**Author's Note:** Another short memory-scene from Harris House.

**Disclaimer:** I've stolen them all. Suppose I can keep them?

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Harris House 02**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

Evan received his Hogwarts letter on a dark, rainy day in July. It was morning, and he was sitting alone in the kitchen over a breakfast of toast and tea when the owl rapped on the window. Evan moved to let it in, watching as the tawny bird shook itself of the rainwater, hooting darkly as soon as it dropped the soggy envelope on the counter.

"You can stay in the owlry til the rain is over," Evan offered. The owl snapped its beak irritably, shook its feathers and flew back out the open window. Evan watched it fly off before he closed the window again and picked up the envelope to inspect it. The parchment was soggy, but the green ink was still bright and crisp on its surface, writing out his name in a fancy script that he had some trouble reading at first.

"Evan Sirius Ronald Potter," he read softly, running the tips of his fingers over the embossed letters. He smiled and glanced around the kitchen before leaving the room, the letter in his hand. He went through the house quietly, his feet soft on the hardwood floors of the halls and stairs of the manor. He didn't meet anyone else, most of the other inhabitants of the house were still abed, it being earlier than most of them preferred, though he knew that his father would be up and awake. He was always up early.

Evan approached the door to his father's study slowly, peeking through the slim crack of the open door to try to see if he was there, and what mood he was in. He saw a dim shadow of a man's shape, standing still and silent and he recognized it as his father's shadow. He moved another step closer and froze as he heard a voice hiss into the room.

"Didn't sleep, did you Potter?" the voice said, whispering harshly into the dim light of the wet morning. It was a voice spoken quietly, though it carried a harsh note of something that caused a subtle tremble in Evan's spine. "Nightmares?"

"Memories," his father said, his voice equally soft but far less sinister.

"You can't even deal with your own past, can you Potter?"

Evan's father was silent and the voice didn't speak again. Evan moved slightly, changing his angle and peering through the door. He found his father standing at the window, at his usual place of vigil, staring out at the rain and the garden stretched out below the house. Evan couldn't see his face, but he could imagine what he'd see if he could. He had sat in the heavy silence of that room watching his father watch his memories in the window more times than he could count or recall. He knew the look that his father's face would have when lost in his own mind. He also knew that the look would change, though subtly, when the ghost was there.

A chill seeped into him suddenly, and Evan took a swift step backwards, pulling away from the wet cold. The ghost melted through the ajar door, floating in the space that Evan had just stood in. The ghost towered over him, even when it's feet floated close to the floor, and Evan craned his neck back to stare up at the man's height. The ghost was dressed in voluminous robes, the fabric floating around him and hiding his body and whatever wounds he had at the time of his death. Silver streaks and splotches of blood covered the ghost's entire right side from his face to the floor, matting the ghost's shoulder-length dark hair into a knotted mess. Evan had always known the ghost, he had been in the house since before he was born, but like many things to do with his father's past, Evan did not know what had caused the ghost's death and decision to haunt his father's footsteps.

"Ah," the ghost said, sneering down at him, "The miniature Potter."

"Snape," his father's voice called from the room. A moment later the door swung open, revealing his father's messy-haired, charred-eyed form. Evan looked between the two, as the ghost turned his attention to his father. His father wasn't very tall, though to Evan he seemed so. The ghost had clearly been taller and had broader shoulders in life, not that their height difference made his father at all intimidated. His father stared at the ghost with a mostly blank face, his dark eyes hard and piercing in a way that Evan rarely saw. He knew that his father's eyes were once the same vibrant shade of green as his own; that they had been charred and blackened to their current dull charcoal color, but Evan could not imagine his father's face without the dark eyes he had always known. And still, at age eleven, Evan did not know what had happened to cause the change.

"Potter," the ghost replied with a sneer.

"Leave," his father said, moving his eyes in a dismissive gesture.

The ghost made a disgruntled noise in his throat and floated across the hall, passing through Evan's shoulder and left arm as he did so. Evan shivered slightly, but didn't follow the ghost's progress, instead fixing his eyes on his father's face as the man stared down the retreating figure of the ghost.

His father suddenly turned his gaze to him, and Evan's green eyes met his father's dull ones. Evan remained silent for a minute, his mind wondering as it had since he was six, what had happened to his father's once green eyes. His father shifted and moved backwards into the study, and Evan followed after him. His father crossed the room to the cold fireplace, sitting in one of the twin wingback chairs flanking the large mantel. Evan trailed after him, glancing out the door once to see the ghost hovering at the edge of the hallway, just out of clear sight, before he took the other chair across from his father.

"I got my letter," Evan said, fingering the soggy parchment envelope

"You doubted you would?"

Evan shrugged, dropping his eyes to his hands. He had doubted, but only slightly. He trusted his father's word that he would receive a Hogwart's school letter, but his father had only spoken it once, and some years ago when Evan was still young and wondering why his accidental magic was such a rare thing. Evan could count the times his own magic flared on one hand, and he would argue that more than one of those occasions had something to do with one of the adult witches or wizards who passed through the house. Evan hadn't doubted that he would receive a letter so much as he doubted his own magical ability.

"You haven't opened it," his father said.

Evan shook his head, glancing up at his father then back to the letter.

"You should."

Evan sat silent for a minute then turned the letter over and broke the red wax seal. The envelope's paper stuck to the letter within, its wetness making it difficult to handle, but the ink remained legible. Evan pulled the folded parchments out and unfolded it, reading over the letter addressed to him at the top. It was short, and signed by the school's Headmistress. Evan shifted through the stack of parchments, finding a reply letter to inform the school of his attendance that September, a class list and supplies that were required of him. Within the package was also a letter addressed to his parents. Evan scanned it shortly, and saw that it was a generic sounding letter, rather than something that sounded as if it was addressed specifically to his father.

Evan pulled the damp letter out of the stack and handed it over to his father, who took it silently. Evan watched him read it, his eyes darting side to side swiftly before setting it aside on the small table next to his chair. Evan handed him the rest of the packet. His father shifted through the parchments quickly, reading far faster than Evan was capable of doing himself. He briefly wondered if his father was just scanning them, but knew that if he asked, his father would be able to tell him word for word, what each sheet of parchment said. Evan did not know why his father was able to do so. No one else he knew had the same skill.

"You will have to choose an extracurricular class for your first two years," his father said.

Evan nodded. "Maybe Care of Magical Creatures," he said.

His father looked up at him and set the parchments aside as well. "I'll take you to Diagon Alley."

Evan started a bit and met his father's eyes, surprised at the offer. It was rare for his father to leave the property, let alone go out into the public. Evan, on the few occasions he had been to London's Wizarding section, had never gone there with his father save once, years ago on his eighth birthday.

"We can grab dinner in London for your birthday while we are there," his father said.

Evan remained silent, watching as his father's eyes bored into his own. He was both looking forward to the outing and nervous about it. He spent hours in his childhood watching his father, but they rarely interacted in a public venue. It was rare for them to interact at all. Evan watched his father, and his father watched him when Evan wasn't looking or when a glass window and several stories of building separated them, but Evan had few memories of his father truly interacting with him, taking him places or teaching him things in the manners that his peers' parents did. Evan knew enough to know that his father wasn't quite the normal model, and while Evan loved his father and idolized him, he also yearned for the scenes of parental affection that he saw between those his age their parents. A trip into London together for dinner on his birthday after a few hours of buying his school supplies for his first year at Hogwarts was exactly the sort of scene that Evan dreamed of. He hadn't expected it to happen, however much he had hoped for it in the weeks and months he waited for a school letter he sometimes doubted he'd ever receive.

Evan offered his father a real smile and said, "I'd like that."


	19. Harry Hawthorne 04

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and his friends belong to J.K. Rowling and her friends. Anything else is likely something of my own.

**Note:** The Bulgarian language will be used in this story by the characters, but I don't want to butcher the language, so it will just be clearly stated when the speaker uses English or Bulgarian or something else entirely. This is also true for when they write, using either the Roman or Cyrillic alphabets.

"_Any language other than English is in italics. If you pay attention, the story will tell you what language the character is speaking in."_

oooOoooOoooOooo

Hawthorne

By Renatus

04 – Catching the Ship

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry threw his last few books into his trunk, pointedly ignoring how his pile of stuff overflowed the size of the trunk. He turned back to his room, checking to see if he had missed anything. It was difficult to tell. With Roscoe sharing his room every other week it was hard to sort through the cyclone he tended to leave behind.

"Harry, have you seen my Potions book?" Roscoe asked. Harry glanced over at the blonde, finding him rooting under the makeshift bed, presumably looking for his books.

"Don't you remember throwing it at me earlier?" Harry asked.

Roscoe paused and looked up at him. "Oh yeah."

"Roz." Harry said through clenched teeth. He remembered the incident quite well – he had nearly been too late to avoid a nasty lump on the back of his head.

Roscoe shrugged, "So what did you do with it anyways?" he asked.

Harry felt his eye twitch. "Incineration." He stated without emotion.

"What?!" Roscoe said, jumping to his feet. The length of chain on his arm rattled at the motion. Roscoe had yet been unable to master the spell to remove it, and Cebelran refused to take it off for him, as did everyone else. Harry found it amusing that the chain was now an electric blue color that seemed to clash horribly against the Durmstrang red robes.

"You threw it at my head. The back of my head." Harry said.

"You cursed my books!"

"How did I do that?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Books aren't supposed to snap at you!"

Harry smirked. "They were only supposed to snap when you tried to throw them on my bed or desk instead of your own."

"And then you burned my potions book!" Roscoe said.

"Because you threw it at me."

"Are you two done yet?" Konur said, stepping into the room. "Mum is looking for you and Cyrille is already in the entrance hall."

"Konur!" Roscoe waved over towards Harry dramatically, "Hal burned my potions book!"

Konur looked between the two for a minute, "What did you do, throw it at him?"

Harry burst into laughter.

"You did, didn't you?" Konur said, giving Roscoe a disapproving look.

"He started it." Roscoe grumbled.

Konur shook his head at them and disappeared down the hallway. Harry returned his attention to his packing, ignoring Roscoe's grumbles about a missing book he had left in the library. Harry didn't bother to look at him as the blonde left the room to look for it, instead searching through the minor mess for his own potions text.

Harry was startled when his father entered, the man's footsteps silent on the carpet. Yet half-dressed, Harry put a hand over his chest out of habit, covering the faint skull and snake mark before it was spotted. Cebalran eyed him a moment and sat at Harry's desk, and Harry lowered his hand as his brain caught up with his reflexes. He didn't have to hide anything from his father.

"You don't walk around the dorms without a shirt on, I hope." His father said with some amusement.

Harry gave him a look, "Of course not."

"No one else bears the Dark Mark on their chest, let alone anywhere but the left arm," Cebalran said, "If anyone knew you had that there they would know you for the Boy-Who-Lived instantly."

Harry scowled but remained silent. He knew all of that already. It was why he showered early with the doors locked, and why he changed his clothes in private, away from where any of his classmates could see. It was why he fed the rumors of severe scarring on his body that he didn't want others to see. Most of the students of Durmstrang believed those scars were from the werewolf that had bitten him. While Harry did have scars from that fight, he didn't actually mind if they were seen, and they weren't as horrible as the rumors made them out to be.

"Albus Dumbledore still looks for him." Cebalran said.

Harry nodded, "Sirius figures the whole Order of the Pheonix keeps an eye out for the Boy-Who-Lived, but he isn't sure why I'm so important to them."

"You are the son of two of their members." His father said, "And you survived Voldemort where they did not. No doubt Albus Dumbledore is very curious why Voldemort would mark a two-year-old rather than kill him, and then completely disappear off the map. It is most unlike him to let his opponents live, no matter their age, and his long silence has no few people worried."

"You would think they'd have forgotten about the Dark Lord after fourteen years." Harry mumbled, then clearer, "Dumbledore should be asking Voldemort his questions, I haven't a clue."

"I suspect that Albus Dumbledore has some idea," his father continued, "But no matter."

Harry rolled his shoulders in a half shrug and closed his trunk, locking it shut. He waved his wand, levitating the large trunk to sit near the door and turned to find the rest of his clothing.

"You and Roscoe will continue your schedule of training." His father said, though he remained seated, and didn't give the command as the Dominum that he was. Harry glanced at him, knowing that while the man was his father, he was also his War-Mage Master. Cebalran usually kept the two roles adequately separate, but every once in a while, he would deliver his orders and instructions as their Dominum in a more laid back manner. Harry appreciated it every once in a while. It reminded him that his father, and his teacher were one and the same, and not separate beings who bore the same face.

"Of course, sir." Harry said, pulling a slim tank over his head. He made a habit of wearing it under his clothes, it gave him a modicum of coverage if his robes were to be removed, and it covered the mark on his chest. It also conveniently covered the worst of his scars from the werewolf.

"I will see you at the end of every month for your testing, and to give new instructions." His father said, watching as he dressed. Harry pulled his red school robes on, fastening the row of dark silver buttons up the left side of his torso from his waist to his neck. The high collar of the robes stood on end, and brushed his chin as he bent his head to see what he was doing.

"Yes, sir." Finished with the buttons, Harry ran his hands down the length of his robes, laying them flat over his black trousers and high boots. The robe's cut was slimmer than his usual preference, the skirt of them had been slit up the back and front in order to allow freedom of movement with the legs. They were sharp looking, Harry had to admit, but he preferred his slightly fuller battle robes, which gave him more room to hide things up his sleeves and around his belt. With the slim Durmstrang robes, it was easier to place a belt overtop of them, rather than under.

Looking up from his inspection of his person Harry found his father gone. Shaking his head in bemusement, he dumped Roscoe's charred Potions book on top of his trunk, and levitated his own trunk out of the room towards the entrance hall. Calling his familiar's name, Harry pulled the strap of a small rucksack over his head and descended the stairs, his trunk bobbing along in front of him.

He found his brother and sister perched atop Konur's trunk, playing a tug of war game with their thumbs – or rather Cyrille was using her thumb against Konur's pinky finger. From the slight grimace on his brother's face Harry would wager that his sister was putting up a good fight, which was an interesting concept, considering Cyrille was arguably a third the size of her older brother.

"Have you guys seen Tavas?" Harry asked, directing his trunk to rest near Cyrille's with his wand.

"Nope." Cyrille said around her tongue, which was pinned between her teeth as she struggled with the game.

"He was chasing Boyd about the sitting room a bit ago." Konur said.

Harry rolled his eyes at the thought, cringing at what trouble the two animals could get into during the chase, and the trouble he'd be in if they managed to break something valuable again.

"Is Roscoe ready?" his mother asked as she swept into the entrance hall from the sitting room. She held a creature in each hand; a dark furred, lanky Kneazle by the scruff of its neck in one, and a green lizard by its tail in the other.

"Tavas!" Harry said, "You're supposed to behave, you know." The Kneazle mewled at him, its mis-matched eyes rolling between his captor and his master as it struggled in the hold. His dark fur was lightly flecked with tan along his spine from his nose, between his over-large ears and down to his lion's tale. It sometimes made him look a bit like a reverse-colored skunk.

"Harry, Roscoe?" his mother reminded him as she dumped the cat in his arms. Tavas wiggled as Harry clamped a firm arm around the cat, holding him against his chest. Tavas hissed at him, but sat still, his claws kneading his arm.

"He was coming." Harry said, glancing at the stairwell and clamping a hand around his Kneazle's paws, preventing the cat from scratching the fabric of his sleeves.

"Good." Their mother said with a nod as she looked over their trunks. "You do not need to be late again, especially when your sister is with you." She scowled, "She at least deserves to be on time for her first trip to school."

"Who needs to be on time, Aunt?" Roscoe called form the stairs, his trunk bobbing behind him. "You don't miss that much, same mumbo-jumbo every year."

"Courtesy." Auriga said sternly, "Responsibility. Obedience."

Roscoe grimaced, avoiding her eyes as he directed his trunk into the pile. He had wrapped the blue chain up his arm and around his shoulders to keep it from dragging.

"Good enough reasons to be on time, boys?" she asked.

Harry tried to look apologetic, and kept his thoughts about Roscoe's fault in their tardiness to himself. The three boy's nodded, each of them ignoring Cyrille's chuckles at their lecture, though Roscoe sent her a scowl and Konur laid a heavy hand on top of her head, threatening to ruffle her hair out of its neat braid.

Auriga pursed her lips and handed the lizard to Roscoe, who took him with quiet mumblings.

"You only have thirty seven seconds left." She said, handing a wooden spoon to Harry. "The portkey will take you to the docks in Lovech."

"Lovech again this year?" Roscoe asked.

Auriga ignored him, giving Cyrille a hug.

"Better than the docks in Burgas." Harry said. "I don't like the longer trip."

"You boys behave this year," his mother said, looking at all of them in turn, "And look after your sister."

"We'll show her the ropes, Aunt." Roscoe said, squeezing onto the trunk next to Cyrille. Cyrille curled her lips at the lizard in his hand.

"Just keep that away from my room." She said.

"What? Boyd here?" Roscoe asked, holding the lizard from its tale up in front of her nose.

"Yes! That!" Cyrille said, leaning into Konur.

Harry shook his head and held the spoon out in front of the three, who took it without a break in their banter.

"Harry," his mother said from behind him, "Be careful." Harry turned his head to look just as the portkey activated, catching sight of the slight form of his adopted mother as the room around him tipped sideways.

The sensation of a hook catching his gut and pulling him into a tornado came as the portkey spun them out of the manor. A moment later they dropped unceremoniously onto the hard floor of the arrivals room at the Lovech Wizarding Shipping Docks.

Harry scowled as he found himself on his arse, Tavas squirming in his lap as the Kneazle righted itself and jumped to the tiled flooring with an annoyed growl.

"Nice landing, Hal." Roscoe quipped.

Harry glared at the three of them, still seated primly atop the pile of trunks.

"Shut it, Roz." Harry grumbled, getting to his feet. Tavas circled him, his tuffed tail flickering back and forth.

"_Arrivals number three hundred eighty-three to the LWSD."_ An official voice boomed out from nearby in the Bulgarian language. _"Please clear the arrivals area for the next portkey."_

With their quarrel disrupted and the uptight official staring down at them, they gathered their trunks quickly. Roscoe guided the four trunks into a tall stack in front of them with his wand, as they made their way through the milling wizards on the Docks.

"Is it here yet?" Cyrille asked, taking Harry's hand and trying to look through the people.

"Probably not." Roscoe said, "Never is this early. Bloody ship likes to make an entrance."

"I don't see it yet." Konur said. Harry tried to ignore the fact that his brother had no trouble seeing over the heads of those around them. Harry barely had a chance, being nearly a head shorter than his brood-shouldered brother.

"Should be here soon," Harry said, catching sight of the clock mounted in the high rafters of the structure that enclosed the Dock surround. The Docks at Lovech were large, and enclosed entirely by glass and criss-crossing beams of metal. While more than impressive, Lovech's docks were busy and crowded on the first of September, something that the three boys had come to appreciate avoiding.

But the sights and atmosphere of the Lovech Wizarding Docks was a classic experience for a first year student to Durmstrang. Half way along the eight stops that the ship made to the school, Lovech was where the majority of the students boarded. Harry was sure that Cyrille wouldn't soon forget it.

With their trunks bouncing along ahead of them, they didn't have too much trouble making their way to the pier, where they checked in their trunks to the loading master. Harry shifted the rucksack over his shoulder and guided Cyrille ahead of him. The crowd was peppered with families seeing their children off to school for the year. Some of the students, mostly the older years, had their red school robes already on.

"Hey, Hal," Roscoe called over his shoulder and pointed into the crowd, "There's Dietrich. Hey, what's she doing with Lepus?"

Harry followed the direction his cousin had pointed and found a brown-haired girl talking to a thin, scruffy looking boy. Harry offered a small smile and waved at her, ignoring the following scowl that Lepus gave him.

"Who's that, Harry?" Cyrille asked, twisting her head to look up at him.

"Nadejda Dietrich." Harry said, "She's my potions lab partner, and Algedi Lepus, who doesn't much like Hawthornes."

"Understatement!" Roscoe said from ahead of them.

"Oh." Cyrille looked at the two a moment. "She's pretty."

Harry glanced between his sister and Nadejda, a bit surprised, but shrugged it off with a nod to Cyrille as he steered her in the wake caused by his brother's passing, grabbing Roscoe's arm as he passed by the blonde.

They settled themselves at the edge of the pier where they could see the small stretch of water and avoid the worst of the crowd. Tavas sat next to him, his fur rubbing against his robes, and his tail flopping back and forth. They could see the glass of the dock's building dome over the entire pool, and beyond it was the shadowy shape of the muggle city of Lovech.

"Is it so close to the muggles?" Cyrille asked.

"The docks are right in the middle of the muggle city." Harry said, "Wizards created the pool to allow the ship to come in."

"Is it deep?"

"Probably." Harry shrugged.

"Hello boys!" a feminine voice said from behind them. She spoke English but her accent with thick, revealing her East European heritage. Harry turned at the familiar tones, finding their close friend, already in her Durmstrang robes with her black hair pulled back in a pleated braid down her back.

"Sidonie!" Roscoe burst out, jumping to his feet in a flourish.

"Hi Roscoe," she said, avoiding his attempts at a hug, "Why do you have a chain wrapped around your neck?"

Roscoe froze in the middle of his attempts, scowling at her darkly.

"It's attached to the shackle on his wrist, actually." Harry offered.

Sidonie raised an eyebrow at him, her amber eyes sparkling in amusement

"It's a War-Mage thing." Konur said, "How're you, Sid?"

"I'm good, spent the holiday in the States with my parents." Sidonie glanced back at Roscoe as the blonde plopped down to wood-planked flooring with a pout. "Where's yours, Harry?" she asked with a smirk.

Harry grinned. "I got mine off nearly a month ago."

"That long?" Sidonie asked, "He's had that thing on for a month?"

"Yup." Harry said, still grinning, "Rather annoying actually, he's learned to use it like some sort of weapon."

"How was your trip?" Konur asked her.

"Good." Sidonie said, "Though I missed home a bit by the end. Why is the chain blue?"

Harry shrugged, amused that Roscoe ignored the question. "I don't think anyone knows."

Sidonie shook her head at them, and turned her eyes to Cyrille. "Is this Cyrille? You've grown since I've last seen you."

Cyrille smiled brightly at her, "Hello, Sidonie."

"Are you eleven, already?"

Cyrille shook her head excitedly, "No, I'm going to Durmstrang a year early, like Harry did."

"That's brilliant," Sidonie said, "My brother graduated the year before I got to Durmstrang. I was always disappointed that I didn't get to have at least one year at school with him. I so dearly wanted to torture him in his final year."

Harry watched her with a raised brow, finding her mean streak to be entertaining. Sidonie had attempted to turn it on the Hawthorne boys in their first year of school, but with all three of them having had the early stages of the War-Mage training, she found her hands a bit full. By Christmas holiday the four of them had become close friends, putting their ideas together to rain chaos on Durmstrang as a team. With all of them also playing Quidditch, they got along splendidly.

Harry glanced away from their conversation, noticing a rippling over the water of the pool. He tapped Cyrille's shoulder, and pointed her towards the lake with a smile. The others quieted as well, watching as the waters churned and boiled in the center of the pool.

The mast of the ship rose out of the pool, splashing the water back in waves as it rose from the depths. Three tall masts emerged, followed by the rocking deck of the ship as it surfaced, all cast in spotted light from the glass dome surrounding the pool. Harry smiled at the sight, having always enjoyed watching the ship arrive at the docks.

"Pretty." Cyrille said, watching the ship settle onto the surface of the water. Harry glanced down at her, smiling at the look on her face. She certainly wouldn't be soon forgetting the sight.

They watched from the edge of the pier as the ship glided into place, settling against the pier and lowering walking planks along its length. The dark wood of the hull gleamed as the water dripped off it, revealing the ship's name scrawled along the front edge in gold Cyrillic letters, _Hazel Lady of the Sea_.

"Ready, then?" Roscoe said brightly, getting to his feet and pulling the chain back up around his shoulders and holding his lizard by its tail. Harry scooped Tavas up, ignoring the cat's mewl at the man-handling. The Kneazle always did prefer moving on its own accord.

They boarded the ship with little fuss, slipping up a gangplank near the front of the ship. Harry kept an eye on Cyrille, afraid that her small form would get lost in the midst of the crowd of older students. Konur led them, his large body making an easy path for them as they worked their way into the bowels of the ship. They were way-laid on the stairs from the deck by an older man.

"Mr. Hawthorne." The man said, emerging from a hallway off to the side. Harry and Konur both looked back at him, waiting to see which of them was being addressed. "Harry, please." He clarified at seeing all of them.

Harry nodded, and waved the others on, Cyrille skipped ahead and took Konur's hand as they descended to look for an empty cabin. Harry turned back to the Professor, taking in the trimmed beard and dark hair pulled back behind his head.

"Professor Gethin." He greeted the Charms teacher.

"_It's Captain, while on this ship, Mr. Hawthorne, and if I could recruit your aid."_ The Professor said in Bulgarian, gesturing back towards the hallway he had come from.

Harry just looked at him a moment, slowly registering the switch of languages with his tongue before replying in kind. _"Yes, Captain."_ Harry said and followed the man, Tavas still in his arms, wondering what the man wanted his help for.

"_Mr. Hawthorne,"_ Gethin said as they entered a large room at the end of the hallway. _"Each year I ask one of the seventh year students to aid in the powering of this ship. I would have preferred that you were at the first stop in Varna, but this will do." _He said, eyeing Harry and gesturing to the room. It was largely empty, save for a pedestal situated towards one wall, in the direction of the front of the ship. The four walls held tall windows, viewing the surrounding lake and dock from all sides. Harry could see the deck of the ship stretched out to the front, the students still milling about it as they made their way below.

"_You would like me to power the ship?"_ Harry asked, turning back to his Professor, a bit surprised at the request. He had not been aware that a student aided with the ship's journey each year.

Gethin nodded, and pointed at the pedestal, switching back to English to continue his explanation. Harry listened through his thick accent carefully. "I will direct the magics while you feed the power. I will require your presence at each dock, but you may return to your friends in between the stops."

Harry nodded. "As you wish. Which spell would you prefer?"

"Emmissum, please." Gethin said, "Into the stone."

Harry eyed the pedestal, noticing that it was topped with a slightly opaque grey stone that was covered with a series of lines and runes.

"Now?"

"Not yet," Gethin said, "Just as soon as we are ready to leave. I will let you know."

Harry nodded and walked over to the windows to watch the docks and students. He sat Tavas sat on his feet, letting the smart Kneazle wander the room. It didn't take the students long to clear the deck. With their trunks in the hands of the loading master, they only had to get themselves onto the ship, which tended not to take them long.

At Gethin's directions, Harry stood to the side of the pedestal, his wand aimed at the stone. He heard the horns blow, signaling the ship's readiness to leave. Harry glanced at the deck, finding it empty of persons.

"_Now, if you would, Mr. Hawthorne."_ Gethin said.

Harry turned back to the stone, aiming his wand and spoke out the spell that would slowly pull his magics into the stone. "Emmissus Vires." He said, watching the dull golden light of the spell stream into the stone. It flared to life, sparking as it rose and spun above the pedestal. Harry kept his wand trained on it as he watched Gethin pull his own wand and begin to direct the ship.

Harry had never been able to get a good look at the ship's submersion. With the cabins below deck, and the portholes being a bit small, the sights available to the students on board were a bit limited. Standing in the steering room with windows surrounding him, Harry watched as the water of the lake churned around the ship and washed over the decking, soaking the canvas sails stored along the masts.

They delved into the depths of the lake, leaving a good deal of the light behind them as they descended. Gethin directed the ship into the currents at the bottom of the pool. Harry could see the motions of the grasses and seaweed growing at the bottom on the rocks. The ship suddenly rocked as the current grabbed it, and Harry noticed Gethin easing up on his directions as the underwater river pulled the ship fully in.

A small flare of light rippled from the bow of the ship, and it settled into the flow of the current, leaving them in darkness.

"_You may cease now, Mr. Hawthorne."_ Gethin said.

Harry glanced up at him, and broke off the spell. The stone continued to glow and hover, rocking and turning every once in a while as if it was compensating for the slight motions of the river that they traveled.

"We will be arriving in Sofia in two hours." Gethin said to him. "Please return here in time for the surfacing. There isn't much to see until then."

"Yes, Captain." Harry said, and with a final glance around the chamber, retreated back into the hallway, his familiar trailing after him. Harry made his way down the stairs, and began searching for his friends. They usually tried for a cabin near the middle back of the ship where they were less crowded and less likely to be interrupted.

He found them seated in a port side cabin on the level just below the decking.

"What did Gethin want?" Roscoe asked as Harry slid the door closed behind him, locking the latch. Harry again gave his brain a moment to adjust to the language switch. It usually took him a few days before he really settled into the constant switching of languages. The Hawthorne family typically only spoke English while at home, despite many of them being fluent in upwards of three languages. English, French and Bulgarian were standard lessons to all the family's children, giving them a full opportunity to choose their schooling location without the worry of a language barrier.

Harry glanced around the cabin, a bit surprised to find Sidonie and Roscoe sharing a bench, though his lizard, Boyd was taking up a rather large space between the two.

"Did you know a student helps with the powering of the ship every year?" Harry asked in return. Sidonie looked a bit surprised, but Harry noticed his brother's nod.

"Is that it then?" Konur asked, looking up from the game of chess he was playing with Cyrille on the bench between them. Harry nodded, slipping into the seat between his sister and the door-side wall. Cyrille squirmed against him, careful not to knock over the chess board. She sent him an exasperated look before settling into the crook between his arm and chest once he put his arm across the back of the seat.

"Interesting." Sidonie said, "I didn't know that. Did you just power it, or did he actually teach you about any of the charms in place?"

"Just powered it." Harry said as he looked over the chess game, "Could you imagine him just volunteering such information on the workings of the ship?"

"No, I suppose not." Sidonie said, and returned to her book as she slapped Roscoe's lizard away from her lap. Boyde scrambled backwards, curling his tail around his body and flaring the hood at his neck. Harry watched the Kneazle from the corner of his eye, noticing Tavas seat himself on the floor in front of Boyd and watch the lizard like it was some kind of prey. The tip of the cat's tail flicked side to side, as his mismatched eyes stared at the lizard.

"The school guards the charm-work on the ship pretty well." Konur said. "Durmstrang enjoys its claim to having the only ship like it."

Harry grunted at that, distracted by the game, and trying to find a way for his sister to check mate Konur.

"How is the planning for the Tournament, Harry?" Sidonie asked.

"Well." Harry said, looking up from the game. "The three Headmasters finally agreed on the housing of the visiting school students."

"Dad shouldn't have offered the towers for them," Roscoe said, "It was easier planning when Dumbledore and Maxim just assumed that they would remain in their school's mode of transportation."

"Isn't that the tradition?" Sidonie asked, "I didn't know that the schools ever really opened themselves up to the others that much."

"They don't." Konur said.

"Yes, but the mountains around Durmstrang get awfully cold in the winter." Harry said, "Headmaster Folkvar was simply offering the more secure warmth of the towers."

"So what was the decision?" Sidonie asked.

"Maxim didn't like the idea to begin with." Harry said, looking back to the chessboard as his siblings continued their game. "But Dumbledore seemed to take to it for some reason. The two debated about it for two weeks before Folkvar simply said that two of the old cave greenhouses could be cleared and offered as further protections from the cold."

"That must have taken some work." Sidonie said, "Those greenhouses aren't even being used anymore."

"Not too much, actually." Harry said. "They're already prepared. I'll activate the warming charms later this week."

"It will be odd having them around this year." Sidonie said, slouching back in her seat.

Harry nodded, looking back up at her. "Durmstrang hasn't hosted the Tournament in ages. There was actually a few rotations where Durmstrang was skipped over as a location. All told, Hogwarts has hosted the most Tri-Wizard Tournaments in history."

"I wonder why that is." Sidonie said, "I suppose it would have to do with politics."

Harry nodded his agreement, glancing back at the board and suddenly moving Cyrille's knight in to check Konur. Cyrille turned and glared up at him, before giving Konur a triumphant grin. Konur sighed and continued the game.

"She won't learn if you always move for her." Konur said, saving his king from the check.

"She's a smart girl." Harry said with a grin.

oooOoooOoooOooo

The trip on the ship passed without major incident. The Hawthorne's managed to avoid the few other students who would have given them any trouble. Harry and Konur were quite good at avoiding such confrontations, and none of them wanted Cyrille to get caught in the middle of one of their squabbles with a peer.

Harry returned to the steering room for the two surfacings to aid in the powering of the ship. Each stop was quick and efficient, and by the time they were nearing the school and their final stop, the ship's cabins were full and all the students aboard. Gethin did not require his aid for the final surfacing at the school, so Harry remained with his family in their cabin. They had been joined by two of their classmates, Georgi and Veit, who were going against Harry and Roscoe in a game of exploding snap, one of the few games the other two boys agreed to play against the two War-Mage Novices.

The rocking of the ship in its surfacing scattered their cards, and they all began to gather their few belongings with them. Harry summoned the cards and handed them to Georgi who slipped them into his pocket.

_"So you're not going to tell us what's going on this year?"_ Georgi asked in Bulgarian. Harry smirked at the brunette, keeping his silence. Georgi Boötes, a German born boy, was one of Harry's house dorm mates and fellow Quidditch player. While not as close as the Hawthorne family, Georgi and Harry got along quite well, and the seventeen-year-old history buff was seen around Harry often.

_"Yeah, c'mon pal, give us the scoop."_ Veit added, _"We know something is up."_

"You'll know soon enough." Harry replied. Veit responded with a glare and threatened a punch. His long limbs snaked towards Harry, who didn't respond or move to the other boy's actions. Veit changed his punch to a grab, wrapping his arm around Harry's shoulder. The brown haired boy was taller than him, and thinner, his nose seemingly too long for his face and his hands too big. Harry always thought that Veit Rudiger was a mis-mash of features that didn't quite fit right, most of them seemingly too large for his thinner body, but Harry recognized the coltishness that Veit still had despite being seventeen. Veit's body was still growing into his over-large features.

Harry poked him in the ribs with his elbow. "Careful, Veit," Harry warned in mock seriousness, "You're messing with a War-Mage Novice, remember."

Veit gasped loudly and backed away from him, grinning widely with his big mouth. "Right, got it." he said, and waltzed out of the cabin, keeping one of his brown eyes fixed on Harry as he left. Harry shook his head at him, narrowing his eyes as Veit glanced back over his shoulder dramatically.

_"Shoulda known you'd keep your secrets."_ Georgi said.

_"You didn't know that already, Boötes?"_ Sidonie asked. _"You've shared a dorm with Harry for the past six years."_

"Yea, yea." Georgi said, waving his hand around.

"Come on." Konur said, "We'll be late."

Harry shouldered his bag, and let Cyrille slip her hand through his as they left the cabin. Tavas trailed after him, padding along near his feet, his tail thumping against Harry's knee. Students milled about the hall, making their way towards the stairs and ladders that would take them to the decks. Most of the students had already left the ship. Harry spotted Veit ahead of them, talking loudly with a boy from their class. Harry could hear the tones of his voice float over the heads of the red-robed students, followed by the boy's laughter.

They left the ship quickly, joining the group of students on the dock. The dock area was surrounded with steep rocks and craggy brush, obscuring the view to the school. Harry glanced back at the ship, and pulled Cyrille around to look. The tall, three masted ship stood regally next to the docks, the lake water stretching out behind it towards the low glow of the setting sun. The lake was surrounded with rock and trees, and the heights of mountain summits. It was a beautiful view, and they weren't even to the school yet, which commanded a view to rival the one from the docks. Harry pointed to a stretch of lights halfway around the lake.

"That's Tronverg." He said to his sister.

"The Wizarding village, right?" she asked. Harry nodded.

"They have great sweets hidden down in there." He said with a smile.

Harry ushered his sister forward, following the crowd of students along the length of the docks and onto the gravel path that would lead them up the mountain to the school. The air blowing down from the summit was chilly, and Harry cast a warming charm over Cyrille, whose cloak had been left in her trunk. Harry forewent the warming charms on himself and simply managed the chill trying to seep through his school robes. It was a part of the early War Mage physical training that taught the student to adapt to their environment, and deal with some of the extremes of weather with minimal fuss and magic.

The path forked ahead of them, marked by an iron lamp that swung over the path and cast a dull, shifting glow in the wind. Harry spotted the tall, lanky form of the Herbology professor ushering the first years in one direction and the rest of the students in the other. Harry and Cyrille arrived, trailing behind most of the rest of the students, and their family ahead of them on the path, waiting.

_"First years to the right!"_ Professor Valentin called in Bulgarian, his voice strangely gruff and oily at the same time.

Harry glanced down at Cyrille, wondering how she would respond to the man's odder physique. She stared at him a while, but didn't seem overly frightened or concerned. Harry smiled and turned to the seven-foot-tall man towering over him. Zsigmond Valentin looked mostly normal, or rather human, but in the dull light of the lamp above his head Harry could see the green tint to his skin, and the glow of yellow in his eyes. It was his ears, nose and hands that set him more apart, though. Long and pointed and knobbly, they were the physical marks of the man's mixed heritage, of his father's half Troll blood.

"Professor Valentin." Harry greeted, noticing that the man's gray streaked dark hair was ruffled wildly, sticking out from his head in all directions, unaffected by the wind.

"Hello, Mr. Harry Hawthorne." Valentin greeted, his voice seeming to grind through the English words. "How was your summer?"

"Well." Harry said, "Yours?"

"I can't complain." Valentin said, waving one of his long arms vaguely. "Though I will complain about the encroaching winter. I despise the cold."

Harry nodded with a small grin, knowing that the man much preferred the swampy heat of the warmer climates and close-grown forests. He wasn't entirely sure why the man taught at Durmstrang with its heavy snows and frigid winter months.

"Better get along, then boy." Valentin said, looking down the path towards where most of the student body disappeared. "Leave the girl here with the others."

Harry smiled down at Cyrille and gestured for her to join the waiting first years. He could just make out the milling little group in a clearing past Valentin.

"See you in the Hall." He said, rubbing her nose playfully with his thumb. She swatted his hand away and stuck her tongue out at him as she walked away. Harry watched her for a moment before giving a nod to Valentin and joining his waiting family on the other path. He glanced back once to see Valentin reach up and pull the lamp off of its post, carrying the dim light with him towards the first years.

Harry joined the group from his cabin and they walked after the students up the dark pathway. The fastly dimming sky gave them only a little light to see by, Harry could spot the glow of magelight dotted amongst the student body trailing ahead of them. Konur's wand was lit with it as well, the blue-tinted light dancing over his wand and lighting the steep path. They reached a flat landing a moment later, a stretch of wooden boards that jutted out from the hillside precariously. Harry stepped onto the boards and eyed the dark, three-axle carriages that lined the other side of the platform. There were only a few left, and the group made their way to the last in line, as the remaining other students filed into the other waiting carriages.

Harry watched the carriage as he approached, eyeing the large creature tethered into the harness. It was a Graphorn, its hump-backed form nearly as tall as the carriage without its wheels. It was stocky and thick, and its grayish skin was dark in the dimming light. The creature turned its head to watch them approach its carriage, its two long horns curled up over its head, deadly sharp. Harry kept an eye on the dangerous creature, watching as it stamped one of its heavy thumbed feet as they boarded the enclosed carriage. Harry never understood why Durmstrang used the beasts for their student carriages. Graphorns were notoriously aggressive and didn't take kindly to taming, thus he was always wary of the creatures that were so out of place tied into a school's carriage harness. He had no idea how the small heard of them managed to get the job of hauling the large carriages up the steep incline to the school on the summit of the mountain.

Harry picked up Tavas and pulled the door of the carriage shut behind him, last in to the carriage, and took a seat next to Sidonie. The carriage was large, able to seat a dozen adults comfortably. Harry turned and glanced through the small window at the front of the carriage house, watching as the Graphorn lurched forward and began its journey up the steep trailway, tossing its horned head. If any creature was able to haul such a heavy carriage, filled with people, it would be the stocky large Graphorn, despite its temperament and dangerous nature.

The slow, rocking trip up the mountain was uneventful. Harry listened silently to the conversation between his friends and family. Konur and Roscue were taking the time to catch up with their dorm mate, Veit, while Sidonie debated some piece of obscure history with Georgi. Harry watched the dark, craggy forest go by, spotting once or twice the lighted, outdoor carriages of the first years floating above the hilltop, receiving their first aerial view of the school and its grounds. Harry remembered his first year trip, excited with the presence of the winged Thestral teams and the open carriages. The circling flight from the docks up the summit of the mountain to the school's main gates was spectacular.

The forest around him opened up and the flat grounds before the school's main doors stretched ahead of them. Harry couldn't see the school as they were still behind the craggy stretch of rock that obscured the winding path down the mountain. Slowly the rocks gave way and the path curved around to the doors. Their large carriage rolled to a stop, rocking slightly on its springs. Harry pushed the door open and jumped out, glancing at the pawing Graphorn before turning to take in the school behind him.

The peak of the mountain towered above him, snow already gracing its upper peaks, sparkling slightly in the light of the early stars. Its peak was still tinted in the golden tones of the sunset. Below the snowline, subtle evidence of the school became visible; lighted portals of windows and doors, leaning balconies, towers that stretched out of the mountainside in seeming disconnection. Durmstrang had been carved into the rock of the mountain, its shell only partially recognizable as any sort of architecture, as chunks of the school seemed to bulge out of the mountain in an array of columns and walls and clay-shingled rooftops and carefully carved stone filigree. Half of the school's walls were still raw stone, sparse brush and the occasional tree clinging to the natural rock, hiding the barely discernable shape of windows and corners. At the level of the stretch of grounds was where the school actually looked like a building. Straight walls had been carved along the front stretch of the school, windows dotted along its length, framed with columns and stone buttresses that supported some of the overhanging sections of the school. The main doors stood tall and looming above a deep set of stairs, surrounded with the three mascots of the school.

"Home sweet home." Konur said softly as they paused to take in the sight of the school.

"Aye." Harry said, smiling. He loved the Hawthorne's house, nestled away in an English dell, but after six years of schooling at Durmstrang the school had become a second home to him. He always looked forward to returning to the dark, secretive school carved into the summit of one of Bulgaria's Rila Mountains. Though, it had taken him a bit of time to get used to the place.

"Remember how much I hated this place in the first four years?" Harry asked.

"Yes." Konur said, "You didn't like it until Roscoe's father took over as Headmaster."

"He's changed it."

"For the better, I suppose." Konur agreed.

"I still miss the Dark Arts classes." Roscoe said with a smirk as he came up next to them.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You would."

"Frankly I'm relieved." Konur said, "I didn't fancy the old way of teaching us about Vampires and Werewolves."

"Getting locked into a room with a thirsty vamp isn't a great prospect." Sidonie said. "I'm glad they did away with that lesson plan."

"Agreed," Konur chuckled, "Shall we?"

oooOoooOoooOooo


	20. Crisis Converging 02

**Author's Note:** HEADS UP! For those of you who read the Converging 01 some time ago, I recently updated it to include a couple small changes (and one big one), namely: I changed Sevastan's name to Liam. So if you are looking for Sevastan, he's now called Liam. Sorry for the change, but I was never quite happy with 'Sevastan' as an alternate name for a Harry Potter anyways. Something about it just didn't fit… Liam doesn't normally fit either, but I think it's appropriate for this persona. Declan or Brenan were close seconds, but I digress.

Anyways… onward!

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Crisis Converging**

By Renatus

Chapter 02 : the Chalet Havens

oooOoooOoooOooo

"_To know ourselves is to know who we are, but who we are or who we might become is never certain." ~Deena Metzger_

oooOoooOoooOooo

"Welcome to Chalet Havens," Liam said.

Harry took in the sight of the house with slight amazement and no little amount of delight. It wasn't overly large, but it certainly wasn't a mere house, it was clearly a Manor. It was noticeably a Wizarding structure; such angles and architecture weren't possible without magic. Walls and roofs were all at varying degrees of angles, balconies clung unsupported to the side of the stone walls while random towers and elevated structures seemed to grow out of the top of the building. Harry was sure that one of the stockier towers wasn't actually attached to the roof at all, just floating in midair above the steep shingling below it.

Harry loved it immediately.

"It is the ancestral home of the Breasal Family," Liam said. "Our great grandmother's maiden house."

Harry tore his eyes from the house to the man beside him. Liam was gazing at the house with an odd look on his face. Harry couldn't quite place it, but felt some kinship to it all the same. While Hogwarts was always like a home to him, and the Dursley's were his family, he had never truly had a home of his own. The home in Godric's Hollow and been destroyed as far as he knew, and he never liked Grimmauld place. It was a Black house, not really Harry's. To know that he had a Family Home, where his grandparents dwelled, and his father was born to, was an incredible feeling.

"She – Mairsile Breasal – married into the Potter line – to Harold Potter, an only child. Their son, Nathanial, fathered James Potter."

"I'm named for my grandfather, then?" Harry asked, not a little awed by the information. He could occasionally get people to tell him a little about his parents, but Harry had never heard about the rest of his family.

"Great grandfather, yes."

"I didn't know that," Harry said softly, turning back to take in the sight of the house again.

"I know," Liam said.

Harry blinked over at him, and stared for a minute as the man walked past him and followed the stone-laid walk up to the house.

Harry was, for the first time, given a good look at exactly how long Liam's hair really was. He couldn't tell when the man was facing him, tied back as it was, but the older wizard had let his hair grow to the point that it all but flowed halfway down his back.

Harry shook his head of his thoughts, his own hair falling in front of his eyes and brushing his cheek, and followed after Liam, weaving his way along the path between the wildly grown garden boxes. He was pretty sure that he saw Devil's Snare in the midst of the thriving plants.

Liam paused at the double doors to the front of the house. One was slightly larger than the other, and they both sat at an odd angle compared to the wall they were situated in, though the angle matched that of the eave a couple meters above. They were decorated, nothing extremely fancy, but impressive nonetheless, especially as the carvings revealed two rearing forms of equine like animals. It took Harry a moment to figure out what they were from the angle he stared at them.

A thestral on the left, and a hippogriff on the right.

"They are the mascots, of sorts, to the Breasal Family," Liam supplied quietly as he swung open the doors. Harry couldn't help but feel excited, his stomach flipped slightly at the emotion. The house was a part of his history, it was his family's history, and not just the history of the Wizarding world like Hogwarts was. Harry couldn't help but feel slightly giddy at the whole idea.

He forced thoughts of other realities and multiple Harry Potter's out of his mind. He would deal with it later.

The entrance hall was impressive. The ceiling, Harry quickly realized was charmed to appear as if it went on for stories higher than it possibly could, ending in a mass of webbed vaulting that had no discernable pattern. A stairway winded its way around the room, cutting in and out of the various niches and angles of the hall as it climbed up three stories.

Harry wandered, stunned and awed, into the middle of the hall, his eyes wandering over every surface of the stone and beams of the hall. Whole sections of wall were dedicated to splendid frescos and stonework, their figures moving in a continual motion as they enacted grand scenes of wizardry and history. There were a few statues scattered in the odd corners, their figures as animated as the paintings on the walls.

"What do you think?" Liam asked in his typical neutral tone.

"I think it's brilliant," Harry stated quite happily, staring at a particular mural depicting what looked to be a glorious battle between a flock of dragons and a herd of griffins.

"Oh, well that's good," Liam said, his voice holding a hint of wry humor, "Wouldn't want you to hate it, now."

Harry spun on his heal to face the man, a small grin on his face. He was greeted with the silently amused eyes and cool features that he was beginning to associate with Liam.

"I…" Harry started then shook his head slightly, unable to quite voice his question.

Liam raised an eyebrow at him, hardly making it any easier. Harry scowled slightly and gazed around the entrance hall.

"It is your home as much as it is mine," Liam said softly, apparently knowing what Harry was going to ask. "We are the same person, time and dimension boundaries aside."

Harry stared at him for a moment, not quite comprehending, and then broke into a wide grin, spinning back around to take in more of the hall around him. He could hardly believe it. The house was warm and welcoming, despite its intrinsic oddities and slight air of old pride. He could almost feel the magic humming around him, welcoming him. While he was skeptical, and rather beginning to wonder if he was dreaming, he couldn't help but trust Liam and feel utterly safe within the manor.

He ignored the logical warning his brain wanted to feed him, his instincts had never led him truly wrong before, and his instincts were telling him that his life was safe within Chalet Havens, and with Liam, despite the man's dark demeanor.

"Liam!" a boy's voice rang throughout the hall, and Harry spun, searching for the source. He found it leaning precariously over the rail of a balcony on the second floor, waving enthusiastically down at them. The boy turned and disappeared into the doorway behind him and a moment later reappeared at the top of the first tier of stairs.

The boy all but sprinted through the archway from the second floor, jumped onto the banister and proceeded to slide all the way down, stomach down and bum first. Harry had the brief desire to try the stunt out himself before shaking the urge away.

The boy was grinning madly as he shot off the end of the banister, right into the chest of Liam, who had apparently moved to catch the kid. The older wizard wrapped his arms around the child to prevent him from crashing onto the floor and smiled down at the boy. Actually smiled, not one of his small quirks and amused eyes, but a full-blown smile. Harry wouldn't classify it as a grin to any stretch of the word, but Liam was smiling.

Harry couldn't help but stare. The boy was obviously young, and small, and looked almost just like him.

"Oy Liam, where'd you go?" the boy asked, still cradled in Liam's arms.

"To the park on Privet Drive," Liam said, his voice warm as he spoke to the boy.

The boy made a disgusted face. "What bloody for?"

"Evan," Liam said, his voice stern, "watch your language."

"Aye, sir," the boy – Evan – said, lowering his eyes for a moment before perking right back up again. "Why did you go there?"

"To bring someone back home."

Evan's eyes suddenly darted around the hall and quickly found Harry, who was still staring in slight shock at the young version of himself. The only difference was their hair. Evan's was lighter, redder, cut neatly and curling slightly behind his ears. The boy even had the lightning shaped scar. The two stared at each other for a long moment, two pairs of wide green eyes mirroring surprise and shock.

"Another one?" Evan suddenly asked, still staring at Harry, though not in such surprise.

Harry couldn't bring himself to voice words.

"Yes," Liam said, his eyes alighting on Harry as well.

Evan stared at him a moment longer before suddenly twisting back to Liam. "Is he staying?"

"He seems to want to," Liam said. "It is his choice."

Evan wiggled out of the older man's grasp, reaching bare feet to the floor. Liam set him down, and the boy wandered over to Harry, who still couldn't make his vocals work properly.

"What's your name going to be?" Evan asked, standing not a foot in front of him and staring up at him earnestly. Harry blinked a few times. The boy may have been ten, but he had the height of a seven year old. Not that Harry was all that tall, mind, but he couldn't have possibly been so small when he was that age!

"Uh…"

"I'm called Evan!" the boy quipped excitedly, "After mamma's name! I chose it when Liam told me I prolly shouldn't keep Harry, cause too many people would know it and wonder about it since I wasn't with the Dursley's anymore and was with Liam instead. Bas said he liked the name Evan and that it suited me because I like to read. He said it made him remember mamma who was really smart and then remember his friend who was bookish and always in the library."

Harry blinked, blinked again and then stared in growing awe as the boy continued to talk. Harry couldn't remember ever being so talkative when he was young. Really, he couldn't remember being so talkative, ever.

"So what name are you going to choose?" Evan asked again, clearly waiting for an answer.

"Uh, just Harry I guess," Harry said, still a little overwhelmed at the whole ordeal.

"Well that's not very creative," Evan said bluntly.

Harry blinked and then shot a glare towards Liam, when his soft growling chuckle started up.

"Sure it is," Harry said forcing himself to settle into the conversation, "Harry Potter is only supposed to be ten, so a sixteen year old Harry won't be that odd. Besides, it's a common name."

"Not for a wizard," Evan stated.

Harry started; he hadn't expected to be contradicted. "Well…uh…well I don't have a response to that, I'm afraid."

Evan grinned from ear to ear. "I win then!"

"But…" Harry tried, "What about Liam?"

"He said someone else gave him his names," Evan said. "Ask him!"

Harry raised in eyebrow in the older wizard's direction, copying the man's usual facial expression rather well. He was a bit curious, now that it was mentioned, about where the man got the name Liam.

"That's a rather long story, I'm afraid," Liam said. "And we've other things to discuss this evening."

Evan shrugged and then sent a beaming smile up at Harry before bouncing off across the hall. Harry watched the boy avidly, still a little shocked at the whole situation. Liam beckoned him to follow and Harry trailed after the two through one of the archways into what appeared to be a sitting room.

It was certainly cozy, and Harry got the impression of the Gryffindor common room from the setup, even though the colors were different. A fire was already crackling away in the fireplace, and Evan had sprawled his small form across the couch facing the grate of the fire. Liam settled into one of the armchairs, his eyes watching Evan with fondness. A few more of Harry's doubts about the dark man faded at the clear look the older wizard was giving the child.

"Are you hungry?" Liam asked, gaze suddenly on him.

"Uh, no, thank you," Harry said, sinking into the second armchair across from the man.

"I'm sure you have questions," Liam said a bit wryly, "I know you do. Please let me speak first, and then you can ask all you want."

Harry nodded and watched as the man propped his elbows on the arms of the chair, steepling his fingers before him.

"I arrived here in the same manner as yourself, in the same location, approximately six years ago," Liam started, "I quickly realized that I was no longer in my time, though I was still unsure if I was in the same world or reality as I was born to. I spent a month confirming this, making sure that it all wasn't some twisted trick or plot.

"Needless to say I found no reason to disbelieve that I was in another world or time. That Chalet Havens still stood and accepted me confirmed this. This manor does not allow entrance to any not of the bloodline, and its existence is not even recorded with the Ministry. No Death Eater would have been able to fake this manor's intricacies."

Liam paused for a moment, his eyes drifting over to the young Evan. "I quickly confirmed that 'Harry Potter' was still in this world, as a young child, handed to the Dursley's for protection. The Dursley's had not kept Evan, instead they had left him at a small orphanage in Surrey when he was five. This was the same as my life, which still causes me to wonder on the nature of time travel as well as cross dimensions and alternate realities. I – arranged (Harry could hear a note of victorious superiority at that word) for the proper papers and documentation in the Muggle world and I adopted him, an easy feat since he had been signed over to the orphanage by his Muggle caretakers. It took little effort to make it completely legal within the Magical world as well, with Dumbledore none the wiser to his whereabouts or the situation in general."

Liam returned his gaze to him, watching him with some curiosity.

"And then you came," he said. "Nearly eleven years after. I rather suspect that someone is 'pulling', for lack of a better term, us into this world or time. For what purpose I do not know, though I'm sure I can imagine plenty. I could find no traces of a ritual or spell connected to me, and again none were connected to you when you arrived. Though there was some strong traces of magic within the area of the park, I could not identify them clearly."

Liam gestured around him with a general motion, as if encompassing the world around them. "It is possible that somehow this is all the same world, that we are being pulled from future times, yet it is also possible that we are crossing some sort of reality boundary. There simply isn't enough information on either sort of case. Such circumstances are rare even in the Wizarding world, or perhaps especially so. Considering our circumstances, however, we can't easily ask anyone else for aid, it is better to hide and let the world wonder where their savior is, and for Voldemort to concoct his plans without taking into account the Boy-Who-Lived."

The man seemed to have come to the end of what he was going to say, as he sat back slightly in his chair, his eyes still watching him avidly. Harry nodded and glanced around him absently. He had many questions, but with the chance to ask them straight out, he couldn't quite settle onto any one thing that he really needed to know.

"Can…" Harry paused, his eyes finally settling on the fire, "Can we get back?"

"To your own world, or time?" Liam asked. "I do not know. If there is a way, I am unaware of it."

"How…"

"I only have speculations and theories, none of which make a lick of sense," Liam said with a hint of aggravation. Harry stared at him a moment, not quite expecting the less than pristine sentences and statements from him. The subject obviously irritated the man for him to show some frustration about it.

"Why here?"

"As I've said before, I do not know the why's or the how's."

Harry sighed heavily. "So I'm stuck here?"

There was a moment of silence and Harry looked up from the fire to see Liam with a look of deep thoughtfulness. "I believe so, though I am unsure," he said at some length. "Until I know how we were brought here, I know no way to return you to your world of birth."

"Do you not want to stay?" Evan asked. Harry looked over to him a bit surprised at the sudden sound of insecurity in the boy's voice. Evan had only shown a childlike exuberance that Harry couldn't remember feeling for himself. It was strange to see the boy suddenly so apprehensive.

"It isn't that I don't want to stay," Harry said, "But that I have friends in my…world that do not know if I'm OK or not."

Harry hoped that the boy would understand. If they had the same beginnings with the Dursley's, he rather suspected that Evan wouldn't have much trouble getting the idea of the importance of friends. Harry ignored that him and his friends weren't exactly at their closest at the time he disappeared from the Express and found himself in the park on Privet Drive. They were still his friends.

Evan looked at him a moment, his green eyes wide as they studied him. "So you want to stay?"

Harry smiled at the boy, "Yes, I want to stay."

"Great!" Evan said, his insecurity momentarily forgotten, "You can have the room next to mine! It has a balcony and you can see the garden and the quidditch pitch outside. And the sun comes inside really early in the morning to wake you up! Is that alright, Liam?"

"I've no problem with it," came the smooth reply.

"Alright, Harry?" Evan asked.

Harry's smile grew at Evan's enthusiasm. The boy was so happy, so talkative. Harry couldn't remember being like that. "I'd like that." And Harry realized, that he really would like to stay and live in the room next to Evan in the house of his own ancestors, no matter what world or time it was in. He couldn't leave anyways, at least not anytime soon, if what Liam said was to be believed, and Harry was inclined to feel that the man was speaking the truth.

Evan beamed at him and settled into the couch, all but burrowing himself in the cushions like a cat would curl up within a blanket. Harry could see why Liam was so fond of the boy. Even if he wasn't some alternate version of himself, Evan was completely endearing. Harry wondered if he was ever as charming.

"Now that it's settled that you are staying," Liam said, "There is the matter of your surname, and a believable history."

"I can't use Potter?" Harry asked, not entirely sure how he felt about that.

"All the Potters are dead," Liam said bluntly, "There are rumors that Harry Potter is still alive though no one knows where, which is why you cannot use it."

"Why?"

Liam didn't seem surprised at his question. "Because Voldemort and his Death Eaters will not be pleased to find a Harry Potter six years older than they expected and from some alternate dimension."

"Not to mention three of them," Evan quipped.

"He's still here then," Harry said, slightly disappointed a not a little upset. He had held a sliver of hope that perhaps this alternate world was Voldemort free.

"He hasn't yet gained a physical form," Liam said.

"Only a matter of time."

"Indeed."

Harry sighed and let his head fall back to the chair. He just couldn't get away from Voldemort.

"So what name should I use then?" Harry asked a bit wearily.

Liam thought about that for a moment before stating slowly, "Breasal could do."

Harry blinked and rolled his head forward to look at the older wizard. Liam's blank mask was still up, as per what Harry was growing used to, but his eyes held an emotion that Harry couldn't quite name.

"I'm a Breasal," Evan said, his voice a bit drowsy.

"How do you…" Harry started, looking between the two.

"The story is that he is a distant relation to me, and when I found him living within a Muggle orphanage while he was clearly a Wizard, I adopted him to give him a Wizarding home to grow up in," Liam said. "People don't ask questions about it after that."

"Seems too easy," Harry said. "Wouldn't people wonder why I look so much like him?"

"Perhaps," Liam said, thoughtful. "You could carry a different surname, and claim to be a cousin, or half brother. It would have to be a relation of Evan's. The two of you look far too alike for it to be coincidence."

Harry thought about that. "Alright I suppose. So, what's my story going to be?" Harry asked.

Liam sat back in the chair and looked at him for a while. Harry sat through the scrutiny, forcing his nervousness of the intense gaze away.

"Let us say that you and Evan are half brothers by your mother. We can flesh the story out further later, but we'll claim she was killed during the early stages of Voldemort's uprising fifteen years ago and you went to live with your aging uncle, the brother of your father." Liam said, "He tutored you privately, and recently he has passed from age. Given that we are your closest living relatives, you got sent to me."

Harry thought through that for a moment. It was easy and simple; something that he wouldn't easily forget, and it explained why he would have no school records for a transfer. It also gave an excuse as to why the three of them looked so similar, especially he and Evan. Claiming to be half brothers would explain their similarities.

"Speaking of school, hasn't Hogwarts started up already?" Harry asked.

"Not for another five weeks."

"But it was September, I was on the Express!" Harry said.

Liam raised an eyebrow at him. "It was also a number of years in the future."

Harry figured that made sense. If he was crossing barriers between realities, than what was stopping him from crossing the barriers of time as well. It was all rather confusing.

"Jameson," Liam said.

"Pardon?"

"Jameson will do for a surname. It's a common enough Muggle name not to stick out in one's mind and easy for you to remember. You'll also be able to honestly say that it is who you are, for you are James' son."

Harry thought about that for a moment. "Makes sense. Harry Jameson."

"Good, that's settled then," Liam said, his eyes drifting over to the small form of Evan on the couch. Harry followed the man's gaze, seeing that the boy had apparently fallen asleep during their talking.

Liam rose from his chair and approached the couch silently. Harry watched as the man gazed down at the boy for a moment, his eyes and face noticeably softer. Harry could see the fondness and daresay even love that the man held for their smaller counterpart. Liam leaned over and cradled the boy in his arms. Evan shifted and mumbled in his sleep but curled into the warmth of the man holding him before quieting again.

"I know you'll undoubtedly be unable to sleep tonight, but I'll show you your room anyways."

Harry nodded and rose to follow the man out of the sitting room. Liam walked carefully with the burden in his arms, obviously not wanting to wake the child.

Harry followed them through the entrance hall and up the first flight of stairs to the second level of the manor. The halls and architecture were mostly stonework, though they didn't appear cold, but rather seemed to radiate a subtle inner warmth. The halls were lined with tapestries and paintings depicting a wide variety of subjects, from grand sceneries to aloof old men who stared at them as they passed. One rather wrinkled old wizard stared down at them with a crazed look, his long moustache twitching in time with the corner of his eye. Harry stared back at him with some incredulity as he passed by the portrait.

Liam entered a doorway – that leaned oddly to one side in the wall – and crossed the room quietly. Harry paused at the door, watching as the man laid Evan down on the bed and pulled the covers up around him.

Evan shifted and mumbled again in his sleep. Liam leaned over and laid a kiss on the boy's forehead. "Sleep, Evan," he said quietly, his voice the softest that Harry had ever heard from the man yet.

Evan settled down and burrowed himself into the covers. The man blew out the set of candles beside the bed and retreated to the hallway, pulling the door closed softly behind him. Harry didn't say anything, simply watching as the man led him down to the next door in the hall – which was also tilted to the side – and peered into it thoughtfully.

"This will do then," Liam said, motioning to the room.

Harry stepped past him into the chamber, running his eyes over the mis-matched angles and architecture that seemed prevalent throughout Chalet Havens. Liam waved a hand, lighting a few of the candles scattered around the room. It was mostly decorated in blues and various shades of greens, which gave the room a distinct calming feeling. The light, warm woodtones of the furniture prevented the room from feeling too cold.

Harry quite liked it.

"The restroom is through the door on the right," Liam said from behind him, "this room shares one with Evan's next door."

Harry nodded, still inspecting the room around him. Three paintings decorated the walls, though all were scenic rather than showing a figure. Harry was rather thankful for that, as he wasn't too fond of the idea of having people, paintings or otherwise, watching him while he slept.

"My room is down the hall at the end. If you need anything, feel free to come to me."

Harry turned to take in the older man, again struck at their similar appearances but obvious differences in character and demeanor. Not for the first time, he wondered what could have caused 'himself' to become so dark and closed. He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to know, or ask.

"Good night," Liam said, turning from the door and disappeared into the dim hall.

"Night," Harry replied, letting the door close after the man's departure. Turning back to the room, Harry glanced around, slightly at a loss for what to do. He knew, as Liam did, that he wouldn't be getting much sleep that night. He rather suspected that Liam wouldn't be sleeping either.

oooOoooOoooOooo

"_None of us know what the next change is going to be, what unexpected opportunity is just around the corner, waiting to change all the tenor of our lives." – Kathleen Norris_

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry watched the dawn from one of the two bay windows leading off onto the balcony. It lighted up the grounds and surrounding region quite spectacularly, highlighting the home-made quidditch pitch and over-grown gardens that seemed to surround the entire manor.

He hadn't slept a wink all night.

He heaved a sigh and pulled himself out of the chair, straightening his clothes slightly and grimaced as his stomach let out a rumble. He figured it was about time to seek out Liam. And breakfast.

The house was quiet as he wandered down the hall; quiet, but not completely silent. It wasn't an eerie or deafening silence, but simply a peaceful quiet morning. The portraits mostly seemed still asleep, though a few shifted slightly at his passing, rousing from their slumber. Evan's door was still closed, so Harry crept by, not wanting to wake the child.

The level was shaped as an odd sort of horseshoe…generally, with the bedrooms at one end and a selection of various other rooms on the other. Harry was pretty sure that he passed a dining room and something that looked suspiciously like an armory.

He found Liam in a study on the other side of the second floor. The study was situated snugly in a corner where the corridor jeered off to the side on a little jig-jagged jaunt that seemed to have no real purpose besides that the house simply could. Not for the first time Harry wondered what sort of minds designed such a house. It was utterly random.

Harry paused in the open doorway, observing the man at his desk. Liam was leaning back in his chair at a precarious angle, his feet propped up on the desk, holding a steaming cup of tea in one hand and supporting his head with the other behind his neck. He was staring intently at a set of scales resting in the middle of the large desk. Or rather, he was all but glaring at the apparatus moodily.

Taking a closer look at the scales, Harry noticed that the two sides were unbalanced, one a bit heavier than the other. On the one side rested two figures, white chess pieces; a pawn and the queen. They outweighed the black king resting opposite them, but not by a terribly great amount.

"There is tea and breakfast on the sideboard," Liam said, his voice quiet but still holding his usual coolness.

Harry started slightly, and spotted a tray of toasts and fruits to the side of the room. Liam didn't look up from his study of the scales. Harry watched him for a moment before shrugging slightly and gathering up a breakfast for himself.

He settled atop a stool across from Liam with tea and toast, and interspersed glances at the scales with bites of food. He was deeply curious about what had the man's interest so ensnared, but he also realized that it wasn't necessarily the scales themselves. It was easy to stare at something with the eyes while the mind wandered in a different direction.

"Have you ever considered the nature of balance?" Liam asked suddenly, surprising Harry.

Harry gulped and swallowed his mouthful of toast quickly, trying not to choke at the same time. Liam's eyes flickered up to him with some amusement at his struggles with his breakfast foods. Harry scowled at him before nearly choking again and drowning the difficult bite of bread with his tea.

"Forgive my manners," Liam said, his eyes still showing his amusement, "I would ask if you slept well, but I know you didn't at all."

Harry sent him a look but didn't comment. Liam just watched him, seeming to know that he wouldn't get a response. He didn't really need one anyways.

"Balance?" Harry asked, not quite up to a conversation about his sleeping habits.

"The nature of balance, yes," Liam said, his gaze returning to the scales. Harry followed the man's look, taking in the scales again.

"It is said that the world balances itself, when one side outweighs the other, good versus evil, dark versus light, magic versus non, and so forth," Liam said. "Opposites and yet a balance of each other."

"I don't understand," Harry said.

Liam hummed and sipped at his tea, staring intently at the scales all the while. Harry briefly wondered if the man had forgotten to blink.

"So what would happen if the world got out of balance?" the man asked. Harry didn't reply, he didn't really think that Liam was actually asking him for an answer. "How would it balance itself? Would it take away from the side that is too strong, or would it add to the side that is weaker than the other?"

Liam trailed off, not looking away from the scales, seemingly lapsed back into thought again. Harry watched him for a moment before returning most of his attention to his breakfast, one eye on the scales.

"The question…" Liam said, dropping his feet to the floor and sitting upright in the chair, "How would a prophesy deal with such a situation?"

Harry stared as the man set a third figure among the pair of white pieces, weighing the already heavier side down even more. It left the scales unbalanced with a black king against the white queen, a pawn and a rook.

"How will the world balance itself?" Liam asked, his voice quiet as he continued to stare at the scales intensely.

Harry took in the scales, not quite understanding what the man was trying to convey. He rather got the impression that he wasn't necessarily supposed to offer an academic discussion about the subject, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the answer to Liam's last question was important.

He couldn't for the life of him figure out why, though.

"We're going to have to do something about those clothes," Liam said, his eyes suddenly on him. Harry swallowed the rest of his tea as he looked down at himself, a bit caught off guard at the sudden change in topic. He was still dressed in his usual summer wear – far too large Dudley cast offs with a pair of worn sneakers. Harry was rather lucky the old sneakers fit, actually.

"I suppose," Harry hedged, not particularly liking the rising gleam in the man's eyes.

"The Breasal Family is a well respected – if cautiously regarded – family within the greater European Wizarding community," Liam said with a distinct air of superiority, "And worn out clothes cast off from an over grown tub of jelly in a wig is not an acceptable dress." The man scowled down at the faded and ripped jeans Harry had tied around his slim waist.

Harry blinked, blinked again and then smirked slightly. "Does that mean we're on par with the Malfoy's?"

Liam let out a sound that was somewhere between a snort and growl that managed to convey his amusement without being classified as a laugh. Harry had no idea how the man did it.

"The Breasal's are known throughout the world in certain circles and throughout Europe within most levels of society," Liam said, his eyes holding a dark amusement, "The Malfoy family is well known in England and remembered by historians and some old noble families within France."

Harry took a minute to process the man's words, making sure he heard it all right and then smirked a bit wickedly.

"The Malfoy family is known more for its support of Voldemort during the Dark Lord's first uprising than for anything else of note," Liam said a bit absently.

Harry could only sum that all up in one word, "Wicked."

Liam sent a smirk towards him at his response.

"Evan expressed interest for dinner in London for his birthday this weekend," Liam stated, "We'll acquire a wardrobe for you then."

Harry nodded, resigned to the fact that the man wasn't about to forget his clothing predicament.

"What is the date?" Harry asked.

"The twenty-eighth of July," Liam said, "We'll celebrate your birthday as well, though if anyone asks, state that you were born on the twenty-seventh, rather than the thirty-first."

Harry looked up at the man at that. "Why?"

"You and Evan look enough alike to gain notice, the two of you certainly can't bear the same birthdays. By using the date that you – arrived – here, you'll be able to remember it easily."

Harry figured that made sense, and couldn't really find any reason to not follow it. "What do you say yours is then?"

Liam steepled his fingers under his chin and leaned back in his chair, tilting it slightly onto its back feet. "February the sixth."

Harry nodded and sat in silence, sipping at the remains of his tea. "Where were you?" he asked softly, staring into the bottom of his cup. "When you came here…where were you in your world, or time."

The office was silent for a moment. Harry didn't look up from the dredges of his tea, idly trying to make out the various shapes of the leaves, not wanting to see the older man's face. He thought that he saw a crane, but turning the cup around the other direction caused it to look more like a crab being tickled by a feather.

"I was in my chambers at my school," Liam said after a moment.

"At Hogwarts, then."

"No."

Harry looked up from his cup to the man across from him, startled.

"I never graduated from Hogwarts," Liam stated, looking a bit reflective, "I left half way through my sixth year. When I would have begun my seventh and final year at Hogwarts I was instead enrolled at a different institution; Ars Arxum."

"Axem what?"

"Ars Arxum," Liam corrected. "Ars Arxum Institution of Magical Learning. Or just Arxum is fine. Most of the residents call it Arxum or the Citadel."

"I don't know it."

Liam hummed, nodding his head slightly. "I would be surprised if you did. Arxum is one of the Wight schools. I was informed of its existence during my sixth year, and within three months I had left Hogwarts to search out the Citadel."

Harry nodded. "What's a wight?"

"A Wight is a creature, a being, or more specifically a being like that of a human, which is usually magical, though not strictly so. Arxum is one of the institutions that teaches the young of those who are Wight, which includes many races, human only being one of them. Wight is not a term commonly used anymore past describing something that caters to multiple magical races, like the schools. Many magical beings would take some offense to being called a Wight, even if they are one."

"I've never heard of it," Harry said, then blinked as a thought struck him. "Wait, what races? What do you mean by human like?"

Liam chuckled softly, but answered anyways. "There are many races on this earth, and only one of those races are human, which tend to keep their societies a bit closed off. Other races are about as anti-social, but interact with each other more than they do with humans. Almost all of them are magical, but like humans, there are some variations of non-magical beings among each race, at least so much as to say that some aren't able to do magic in some form."

Harry was a bit surprised at that idea. He knew that there was a lot to the magical world that he still didn't know about, but he had never imagined that there were other races like humans.

"What sort of races are there?"

Liam smiled. "Werewolves for one."

Harry nodded. "Ok, sure."

"They are more generally called Lycanthropes, were-creatures of any sort. Werewolves are just one variety, and yes, they can be born, though it is a rare thing."

"Remus was bitten," Harry commented. "Is he a Lycanthrope or a human?"

"Technically," Liam said, "Lycanthrope. But Weres are one of the races that interact with the human societies pretty freely, especially if they were bitten, as in most cases they were born human and grew up that way. It is difficult to leave one's home culture, especially as an adult."

"Makes sense. But don't muggleborns do exactly that?"

"Yes, for the most part. Wizarding culture is quite different from Muggle culture, but there are always parallels and similarities and in the end both Wizards and Muggles are human. Most other races are quite a bit different from humanity, especially their societal structures, laws and culture. Anyways, Lycanthropes are a separate race, as are Vampires, which can also be either born or turned."

"Lycanthropes and Vampires," Harry said, thinking about it. "What else?"

"Goblins."

Harry nodded, thinking that it made sense. "Giants and Veela?"

"Yes, exactly," Liam said. "There are also some of the ones that you would be less likely to hear about. Nymphs, Satyrs, Naga, Garuda, Djinn. There are others."

Harry blinked. "No, I haven't heard of them. Except for something about Djinn, I think."

"You'll learn," Liam said. "There's plenty of time. Wight schools accept most of the races, though many races are regional and so are less likely to be seen in some locations of the world. Garuda, for instance aren't so common in Northern Europe, as aren't the Naga, though the Djinn are now quite widespread."

"Huh." Harry figured he'd let that information settle a bit and decided to reroute the conversation a little.

"Why did you leave Hogwarts?" Harry couldn't quite think of a reason why he would want to leave the school that had been a home to him. He couldn't imagine not returning there each September.

"Because I needed training that Hogwarts could not give me," Liam said, leaning further back in his chair and propping his feet onto his desk again. "Or rather wouldn't. And with a very public falling-out between me and my friends at Hogwarts in December, followed by my subsequent public expulsion that January, my friends were thus safe from Voldemort and his lackeys looking for ways to get to me."

"Expulsion?" Harry stared.

Liam hummed non-commitedly, his eyes showing signs of amusement. "Aye, Albus and I planned it from that Halloween. After that January I was free to search out the Citadel and attend the institution with fewer worries about my friends' safety. Since the world believed that we parted on bad terms, there wasn't much reason for Voldemort to kidnap or target them, as I had little reason to return to England to save them."

Harry wasn't sure what to think about all of that.

"So to answer your earlier question," Liam continued, "I was in my chambers at Arxum repairing a few damaged wards that one of my neighbors tore through in his latest attempt to enter my rooms."

"You had your own room?" Such a concept was a bit odd to Harry, who had only ever experienced a dorm room at Hogwarts he shared with five other boys. Top that off with his 'room' at the Dursley's being no more than a cupboard and the idea of having his own _set of rooms_ was almost daunting.

Liam nodded. "All of the students there have their own chambers, and are responsible for their own privacy and protections throughout their stay at the institution."

Harry was definitely not sure what to think about _that_.

"You needed wards around your room?" Harry asked.

Liam looked at him a moment, his eyes as blank as his face. "Ars Arxum is not an ordinary school," He started in a smooth, cool voice, "It is designed to test its students and to stretch them to their limits. It isn't unlike a Muggle military academy, but with an element of real danger added to the equation. It is highly selective, advanced, dangerous and bloody difficult to find." Liam scowled slightly, but continued on, "Its students range in ages, nationalities and races, and it teaches subjects that you wouldn't find in Hogwarts' restricted section. Its graduates, those who survive the lessons and the halls, are some of the most influential personas within the European Magical world, except you wouldn't know most of them if you stared them in the face."

"Sounds like Slytherin house's greatest dream," Harry said, a bit dazed.

"More like their greatest nightmare," Liam commented with some amusement.

Harry thought about the school and the man's words for a moment. "I'm going to go there, aren't I?" he asked, staring into the dregs of his tea. The crab and feather had disappeared to be replaced with a lopsided moth.

"Yes," Liam said simply.

"Even though I'm already sixteen?" Harry asked.

"Age is irrelevant at a Wight school."

Harry sighed, trying to wrap his mind around the idea that he would not be returning to Hogwarts.

"Hogwarts doesn't commonly accept transfer students," Liam said softly, "though it has happened before. They garner a lot of attention, and as such you would be placed under some scrutiny, and you look far too much like James Potter for me to be comfortable with such a situation. There would be too many questions and speculations about your origins, and we do not need that."

Harry supposed he could accept the reasoning, though he wasn't sure that he accepted the whole deal otherwise. Hogwarts was the first place he ever truly felt at home at. He couldn't imagine not attending the school.

"The Citadel will not question your origins," Liam said. "The Breasal's have commonly attended the school, and while you may look like James Potter, James was also a descendant of the Breasal House. Our looks follow that line, rather than the Potter's, who actually tended to bear lighter hair colorations."

Harry nodded, "Alright."

"Good," Liam said. "We'll leave for the school in three weeks, and arrive a week early."

"Why early?" Harry asked.

"Because I have a classroom to prepare for lessons."

Harry blinked. He hadn't expected that one. "You teach there?"

Harry got a sardonically raised eyebrow for that. "Are you so surprised?"

"A little," Harry answered truthfully. "Defense I assume," Harry said, thinking of Dumbledore's Army he had led at Hogwarts.

Liam smirked slightly. "I teach a magical creature handling class."

Harry was a bit more than a little surprised at that. He had a fondness for animals, but he had never really pursued it much in the school setting. Then again, he had never really thought about teaching before either, not even after the club he got roped into leading under Umbridge's nose.

"Creature handling?" Harry asked, a bit dazed at the idea.

"Yes," Liam said, "I gained one of my Masterships in Care of Magical Creatures."

"One of your Masterships?"

Liam hummed in response, his eyes slightly amused.

"As in like, Severus Snape, Potions Master?" Harry asked.

"Something like that," Liam said with a raised eyebrow. "I received two Masteries while at Arxum; one in Care of Magical Creatures and the second in the Combat Arts. At Arxum I teach non-domesticated creature handling to advanced students of the subject, though I spend most of my time in my role as Arxum's Groundsmaster."

"Groundsmaster?"

"Hmm, yes. It is somewhat similar to Hagrid being the groundskeeper at Hogwarts, except the grounds at Arxum are far vaster, house more creatures and require more than one set of hands to keep them. I employ two apprentices as groundskeepers to help me."

Harry sat and stared at the older man, a bit stunned at the information. He didn't know that anyone could receive two Masters, though admittedly he never bothered to research it. He didn't really think that he would ever have to worry about it. He hadn't really expected to survive his years at Hogwarts, the way his time there had tended to go.

Perhaps Ars Arxum, the Citadel, would be a bit safer for him. After all, there wouldn't be anyone after the Boy-Who-Lived there.

"Your new wardrobe will include the necessary dress restrictions of your station at the Citadel," Liam stated. Harry blinked at him for a moment, not exactly comforted by the slight gleam in his eyes.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Harry grumped, feeling a bit like a target for the man's amusement.

"Immensely."

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Author's Note:** And isn't Evan just adorable? I'll be the first to admit that he doesn't seem exactly Harry Potter-ish but I've taken some liberties with him. One thing is that he's very comfortable with Liam, and in turn with Harry. Evan was abandoned by the Dursley's and subsequently adopted by Liam when he was still pretty young, so he's probably the most different in that regard. He had more of a chance to be a normal kid, unlike our time-line's Harry Potter, thus he's slightly more talkative … or rather very much more talkative, at least around those he is familiar and comfortable with. But as we saw in this chapter, there are still strong traces of the time he spent with the Dursley's, such as his small size and hidden insecurities.

Liam-Ri Breasal is Irish and is pronounced something like: LEE-am-REE BRAY-sall. Liam for short.

Evan's full name: Evan-Rua Breasal (ev-ahn-ro BRAY-sall) is also Irish based.


	21. Crisis Converging 03

**Author's Note:** Another installment of Crisis Converging. Beware: multiple new characters (and later installments will only introduce even more) so prepare yourself (you've been duly warned).

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Crisis Converging**

By Renatus

Chapter 03 : The Wight School

oooOoooOoooOooo

"_A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other." – Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities_

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry tugged at his vest, smoothing the grey fabric over his shirt. It was a simple shirt, collared and buttoned like any normal Muggle shirt, except it's sleeves were a bit fuller and the cuffs around his wrist fitted nearly to his elbow. The act of wearing a vest over it was different for him, and the snug, durable fabric made him feel skinny after his Dudley cast-offs.

"Try tucking it in," Liam said. Harry glanced at the man standing in his doorway, before doing as he suggested, and tucking the shirt into the slim pair of black trousers. The trousers weren't snug, but were far from baggy either, tucked into a pair of half-calf boots.

"Style doesn't matter much at Arxum," Liam commented. "You can wear whatever style clothing you prefer, but there are color codes that you must follow. The plain white shirt and grey vest denotes an unplaced student; one who has not chosen a specialty." He gestured to Evan, who was sitting cross-legged on his bed, and dressed similarly to Harry, except his shirtsleeves were off at the bicep and his vest was yellow. "The yellow vest over top is a symbol of the Primary School. Red is the Combat Arts, blue is Healing and so forth. It is the colors that are your uniform, and you must wear them while at the school."

Harry inspected Liam's own dress, similar to his own though the man's boots were considerably taller. His shirt was grey instead of white, and he wore a red vest over top of it. There were symbols stitched into the left breast with grey thread (two crossed swords over a silhouette of a dragon) and the man had a dark grey long coat thrown over top. Harry could see the man's arm braces peeking out from the sleeves.

"Ready?" Liam asked.

Harry nodded and allowed Liam to grip his shoulder and pull him close to the taller man. Evan scrambled off the bed and wrapped an arm around the man's waist. With the gut-wrenching sensation that was apparation, the three left the lop-sided Breasal house behind. The world tilted and spun around him and Harry was only saved from tumbling to the ground by Liam's firm hand on his shoulder.

Harry scowled, "I hate apparation," he said, prompting a quiet chuckle from the man.

"Side-along apparation is more disorienting than when you apparate yourself," Liam said. He pointed a head of them, "Welcome to the Citadel."

Harry looked up at the school and stared. It wasn't quite what he had been expecting. Actually, it was a bit less than what he had imagined. He had thought that Arxum would be something like Hogwarts – an old castle towering into the sky. The Citadel wasn't very tall at all, and it looked more like a fortress than a castle. It was situated on a flat stretch of cliff that looked to have been cut out of the mountain. A shadowed forest clung to the side of the hill, surrounding the cliff, school, grounds and a stretch of overgrown fields off to the side. The buildings that he could see were mostly made of a grey-brown stone, topped with red shingles, and were clustered close together and butted up against the side of the mountain, leaving the grounds to stretch out to the edge of the cliff in front.

"Look, Harry," Evan said, pointing behind them. Harry turned, and found that they were standing close to the edge of a high cliff. The plateau the school was on dropped suddenly and steeply, the cliff rocks sparse from anything but the smallest of vegetation. The cliff ran straight into the circling forest, far enough below them that their line of sight wasn't at all hindered by the trees. Far below them stretched a red-roofed village, and past that a wide, calm lake that emptied into a river that disappeared through a patchwork of wood, field and fence line on the horizon.

"That is Bertrao," Liam said, "It is a Wizarding village. Ars Arxum was built out of the ruins of its castle, Bertrao Torre, after an attack that nearly decimated both castle and village. From that point Arxum was more than just a castle, it had become a Citadel – a fortress. Some of the ruins of Bertrao Torre are still here. The Headmaster's Tower is one of the few pieces of the old castle that is still standing. The rest of Arxum is newer. It is updated often."

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

"Northern Spain," Liam said, "Come on, we'll visit the village later this week."

Harry and Evan followed Liam to the school, and Harry got a better look at the buildings that made it. He had thought at first that they were separate buildings, but with a closer look he realized that they were all connected, seeming to run into each other as if they had once been separate and had been pushed together.

They passed through a deep, if wide arch and Harry suddenly realized that a part of the outer buildings was actually a really thick wall. The school opened up to a wide courtyard paved with uneven stones. Off to one side stood an old grey stone tower with narrow windows and a red-slated roof - the same roof that all of the buildings had. Liam pointed it out as being the Headmaster's Tower. Broken stone walls trailed away from it, overgrown with grass and moss, and another narrow building had been built into the back of it, connecting the tower to the wall of buildings around the courtyard. Most of the buildings were built with red brick or tan stone, and decorated in a Spanish architectural style that had wooden beams stretched up to the roofs. The wall-buildings arched somewhat erratically but generally formed a half-circle that completely enclosed the courtyard with the aid of the sheer cliff of the mountain it was butted up to. More buildings seemed to have been grown out of the mountainside, and Harry wondered how deep into the mountain the school went.

"There are six main sections to Arxum," Liam said, leading them along a cobbled path that cut through the center of the circling wall. Most of the courtyard was paved with uneven stone in a circular pattern. Wide paths stretched out from it in six directions.

"Ars Arxum has six sub-schools, called colleges, that make up the greater Institution," Liam continued, "You will learn about them soon enough. The short of it is that there are five main colleges that teach masteries, and one college that caters mostly to children and teaches the basics of magic. Evan is enrolled in the sixth, called the Primary School. He'll likely graduate from it early this year."

Evan smiled and nodded and Liam pointed to a three-story building that had been molded into an inner portion of the wall near the tower. Another, taller building was beyond it, partially separate, yet still connected, and helped to form the outer part of the circular wall. "That is the main building for the Primary School. Classrooms, dormitories and meal halls are all located there specifically for that school. This helps to keep the Primary School separate from the rest of the Arxum students. Unlike the rest of the students, the Primary School students are off-limits for trials."

"Trials?" Harry asked.

"Yes, trials." Liam said, "Think of them like impromptu tests."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the other man, not much liking the concept or the way his eyes gleamed.

"Trials is the school's way of keeping her students on their toes, testing what they have learned and their progress, and preparing them for the world," Liam said.

"So what exactly are they?"

Liam shrugged elegantly, "They can be anything."

"Anything?"

"Yes," Liam said. "You will learn."

Harry glared at him, annoyed with the non-explanation. Liam had thrown that phrase – 'you will learn' – at him nearly every time Harry asked about Arxum and how the school was run. He kept getting distinct impressions that it was handled considerably different from Hogwarts, but he had yet to get much of a straight answer.

"You will be tested to determine your knowledge and skill level," Liam said, starting to lead them down the path towards the Headmaster's Tower. "It's an aptitude test. From there you will be able to begin choosing your classes and enter a college."

"What college did you enter?" Harry asked.

"I was entered into both the College of Combat Arts and College of Natural Studies," he said. "Which is unusual, but not unheard of. It is more common to earn one mastery and return to earn the second at a later time, rather than earn two at once."

"Was that in – er…"

"In both worlds, yes," Liam said, raising an eyebrow at his trailed off sentence. "When I arrived here five years ago and re-enrolled at Arxum I tested directly into adept status. Adepts are graduated students without a Mastery." Liam preempted his question. "From there it only took me a year to officially complete my two masteries again. The Headmaster employed me as the Groundsmaster shortly after."

Harry nodded, thoughtful. "What level will I be at?"

"You are considered a novice at this point," Liam said. "On that scale, Evan is a juvenile until he tests out of the Primary School and I am a master."

"How many levels are there?" Harry asked, wondering if he would be able to keep them all straight.

"There are four student levels and each are marked by the white sleeves," Liam gestured to Harry's shirt. "Juvenile, novice, notare and three varieties of adept. These are all called owens. Owen is a Wight school term for student."

"So I'm an owen?" Harry asked. Liam nodded. "And a novice."

"Exactly. You'll be tested to see if you are able to make notare status and chose a specialization."

"This might take a bit to remember," Harry commented.

Liam smirked. "You will learn."

Harry scowled at the man as they continued across the school grounds.

A brown-haired man dressed in an open robe greeted them at the base of the tower. The robe floated around him as he walked, revealing plain slacks and shirt with tall leather boots, all of which were brown. He wasn't overly tall, though his shoulders were broad and his arms thick, and he walked with a strange rolling gate that made him look bow-legged. He couldn't have been over thirty. He smiled widely at them, showing off sharp canines and bright amber eyes.

"Liam!" the man greeted, "How was your summer?"

"Lan," Liam shook his hand with a smile and a nod, "It was well, thank you."

"And you, Mr. Breasal?" Lan asked, ruffling Evan's hair, causing the boy to scowl up at him.

"Good, sir," Evan said. Lan chuckled as Evan tried to tame his hair after the ruffling.

"In case you don't know," Lan said to Liam, "your young Mr. Macaire has been having some troubles with the Hippogriff herds this past week," Lan said.

Liam sighed, "He shouldn't be near them around the full moon."

"Aye, aye," Lan said, his grin faltering a bit. "Figured you'd want to know. I was going to do something about it, but he hasn't sent them off on a rampage yet, and he's your apprentice."

"Thanks," Liam said, a hint of sarcasm leaking into his voice. Harry found it odd, he didn't often hear Liam resort to sarcasm.

Lan laughed and turned to look at Harry. Harry thought the man looked a bit feral, and he wasn't sure if it was the wide grin or the gold eyes that reminded him of Remus.

"Is this your new lad?" Lan asked.

"Aye," Liam said, moving to place a hand on Harry's shoulder, "This is Harry Jameson. He is a half-brother of Evan's by their mother."

"Is he then?" Lan said, looking highly amused. The man winked at Liam, then offered his hand to Harry. Harry took it after only a slight pause, and nearly cringed at the tight grip the man had. His hands were thick and muscular and Harry thought he felt bones scrape together at the force of the handshake.

"Welcome to the Citadel, Mr. Jameson," Lan said, grinning. "I am Headmaster Divot Landcastor."

"Uh, thanks Headmaster," Harry said, taken aback that this young, cheerful man was the Headmaster.

Lan laughed again and released his hand. "Have you tested him for placement yet, Liam?" Lan asked.

"No, I figured I would let another, since he is a relation and I'll take his sponsorship."

"Fair enough," Lan said, "Did you have someone in mind?"

"Not particularly. Whoever is available will be fine," Liam said. "Though he'll likely have a bit of a knack for the Combat Arts subjects, considering his history." Liam paused and glanced between Evan and Harry. "Additional tests in Healing wouldn't be remiss either."

"You think they're alike on their mother's side, then," Lan said, looking between the two with a knowing grin, "You certainly never professed much interest in healing."

"Quite."

Lan nodded and motioned for the three to follow him. "I'll see who is in the mood for a good testing, then," he said, giving Harry a wide grin.

The Headmaster led them into the tower and directly up five floors of spiraling stairs. The room at the top opened up with a vaulted ceiling and surrounded by narrow windows. A large wooden desk dominated the center of the room with a few chairs in front, behind which was a set of double doors. Two large battleaxes were tacked above the doors. The walls were hidden behind a host of shelves, tables and cabinets of all shapes and sizes. Most of the shelves held books, but there was equipment and gear that put Harry in mind of a muggle military installation, or an armory. Over all the room was mostly academic, and while he was vaguely reminded of Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts, Landcaster's office was also distinctly different.

"You said you had received custody of another child," the Headmaster said, gesturing for them to sit, "But you didn't tell me he was another you."

Harry froze, halfway between standing and sitting.

"In a letter by owl post?" Liam said, taking a seat between Harry and Evan, "Not likely, Lan."

Harry sat the rest of the way into the chair and chanced a look at the Headmaster. Landcaster was watching him, a grin stretched across his face. Harry scowled, feeling like he had been the butt of a joke.

Lan laughed, "Oh he is like you."

"I would imagine so," Liam said, his face stoic but his eyes filled with amusement.

"He hasn't gone through your rituals, though," Lan said, thoughtfully, "Which would explain why you thought to test him for a healing aptitude."

"He's too young yet, anyways," Liam said, waving a hand in dismissal, "His life was similar to Evan's, though he never saw an orphanage. Otherwise the two seem quite similar."

"I see," Lan said, leaning back in his chair. The chair tipped back dangerously, lifting three of its feet off the floor. The Headmaster didn't seem at all bothered by the balancing act as he looked between the three seated before his desk. Harry's curiosity about Liam's rituals grew again. He hadn't outright asked the man about them since he had met him, and Liam did not volunteer any information on them at all. To know that he had to be of a certain age to go through them was the biggest clue Harry had yet gotten about them, past what he had been told initially.

"So should I assign the boy to Sybaris?" Lan asked, looking intently at Harry, "or Albireo? I would give him to Lovell to test but I think the old wolf would break him. Were you ever that small?"

Harry frowned, while Liam made a disagreeing noise.

"He's tougher than he looks, Lan," Liam said, "and I don't think Albireo would be ideal."

"Oh? Why not?" Lan asked.

"I think he could learn more from another," Liam said, his voice both suggestive and casual.

Harry wondered what he meant, and he thought that the Headmaster was a bit curious as well, but Lan didn't ask for clarification and Harry knew better than to ask for an explanation after that tone of voice. It had taken Harry a couple days, but it had finally clicked that with Liam's age – which he suspected was quite a bit older than the man looked – Liam knew a great deal more about the so-called future than Harry did. Liam also knew about Arxum and its people, which Harry knew nothing about. It made Harry feel like he was at a bit of a disadvantage, especially when the other man started talking in ways that left Harry confused. It was like he was giving away hints about the future without actually saying anything.

"Alright, I can take a hint," Lan said easily. "I'll see if Sybaris and Lovell want to fight over him. Though if Albireo is around, he'll want to see what the lad can do."

"I know," Liam said.

"I wonder if Artegal is here," Lan said, glancing towards the windows absently.

"Monat?" Liam asked. "That could be interesting. I hadn't actually considered her. She doesn't typically bother with the testing of novice students."

"There's always the chance of a first."

"Indeed."

The Headmaster nodded, "Alright, summon Athanasios and find the lad a room."

Harry didn't know how Liam summoned Athanasios, but ten minutes later they were joined by another boy, who glided into the room so silently that Harry nearly jumped when he saw him. Liam introduced him by a name longer than Harry could remember, and with more syllables than he personally thought prudent or pronounceable. He wore the white sleeves and red vest of a Combat Arts student, but Harry couldn't figure out what level of student he was, though he was sure there was some way to determine it by the man's dress.

"Athan will find you a room," Liam said, giving Harry a name he could actually remember for the other boy. "Take the time to get settled in and I will pick you up later for lunch."

Harry nodded, and followed both Evan and Athan out of the tower, taking the door behind the Headmaster's desk rather than the stairs downward.

Athanasios turned out to be a nineteen-year-old vampire. Harry hadn't realized it at first, as the young man seemed perfectly human, if a bit aloof (almost Malfoy-ish). He was tall and pale, with grayish hair and yellow eyes. It wasn't until they had escorted Evan to his dorm room, which he shared with three other boys, and Athan finally smiled that Harry figured it out.

There was no mistaking the fangs.

Evan didn't seem the least bit surprised or daunted by the idea, and while it had surprised Harry, he wasn't much unnerved by it. He was more annoyed with the older boy's aristocratic pride than his race.

"Settled, then, Mr. Breasal?" Athan asked Evan.

Evan gave the other boy a small smile and nodded as he wandered into his room. It was spacious, and featured four nooks that held beds and dressers. Another boy was already there when they entered, and bounced up from his bed to greet Evan enthusiastically.

"Hey Mick," Evan said, grinning as the other wrapped him in a hug. The boy was taller than Evan, but almost as skinny. Harry thought the two looked quite a bit alike considering they weren't actually related. Mick's hair was nearly the same shade as Evan's, both a sort of reddish-brown, though Evan's was darker and Mick's was almost blonde in its lightness. They both had green eyes, and light skin.

"Harry," Evan called, "This is my blood brother, Mickero Landcaster."

Harry blinked. "Blood brother?"

Evan nodded and held up his left hand, showing off a scar that trailed across his palm. "We started at Arxum together," Evan said. "Mick this my half brother, Harry. We have the same mum."

Harry nodded to the other boy. "Nice to meet you."

"You too, Mr. Breasal," Mick said. "Wow, you two look a lot alike."

"It's Jameson," Harry said, "And you can call me Harry."

Mick nodded.

"Are you related to the Headmaster?" Harry asked, noting the same last name.

"He's my uncle," Mick said. "He and my dad are both werewolves, they got bit when they were kids, but I didn't inherit it. I sorta wish I had, it would make physical education classes easier. Werewolves are just stronger and faster than humans, but I suppose then I'd be held to a higher standard, so maybe it's fine anyways."

Harry guessed that he had figured out where Evan got his talkativeness from.

oooOoooOoooOooo

"_We are children of our landscape; it dictates behavior and even thought in the measure to which we are responsive to it." – Lawrence Durrell_

oooOoooOoooOooo

"You are related to Master Breasal?" Athan asked.

Harry glanced up at the tall form walking beside him. He was being led through the maze-like corridors of the school. He had only a vague idea where he was in relation to the Primary School's dorm rooms – where they had left Evan to unpack and socialize with Mick, and no idea how to return to the Headmaster's Tower. The interior of the school was much larger than he had anticipated it being from the outside.

"Yes, he is a cousin I think," Harry said.

"And you are related to Evan?"

"He's my half-brother." Harry found it easy to claim. He and Evan were so much alike that it felt like they were brothers, on the occasions that Harry managed to forget that they were actually one and the same but from different realities. If they were the same age, Harry figured they could have been twins.

Harry looked back at the boy next to him, "And you are?"

"Forgive me," Athan said, looking down at him, "I am Athanasios Lacque Leiandrosoka, Apprentice of Master Liam-Ri Breasal."

Harry blinked at the other's name. He still wasn't entirely sure about being able to pronounce it himself.

"You're Liam's apprentice?" Harry asked.

"One of three, yes," Athan said, "We also serve as groundskeepers to the school as Master Breasal is the Groundsmaster here."

"What level of student are you?" Harry asked.

Athan glanced sideways at him for a moment before answering. "I am an Apprentice Adept," he said, "This can be deduced from the grey that borders my vest." He traced one of the grey ribbing that hemmed the red of his vest. Harry nodded. Niether he nor Evan had the duo-toned vest, though when he thought about it, Liam's had a black bordering. He wondered if the different color meant anything and figured that it probably did.

"Have you yet been tested?" Athan asked.

"No. Liam suspects that I'll be able to make notare," Harry said, "Not that I'm clear about the difference."

Athan smirked at him. "Notares are given greater trials than a novice."

"It'd be nice if I knew what the bloody hell that meant," Harry grumbled.

Dark chuckling made him start, and he stared at his companion as he laughed. Athan was as poised while laughing as he was at any other time, though the flash of fangs made him look more dangerous.

"You will learn," Athan said, still smirking.

Harry scowled at him.

They lapsed into silence after that, walking through the white-washed hallways until they came upon an open hall. It was tall, stretching multiple stories above them with a vaulted ceiling. Wooden beams criss-crossed the open space near the top in between wide paneled windows. The sun streamed in through the windows, broken up by the beams to cast the hall into spotty shadows and light. Two layers of balconies ringed the room, with stairwells at two corners and more doors than Harry could quickly count.

"This is the Atrium," Athan said. "It is the center of the Arxum colleges." He gestured to the flooring. A patterned mosaic of tiles decorated the floor, forming a circular, radial design that stretched out from the center in an array of colors. "The Atrium leads to most of the other places in the school, though some of the branches are connected to each other as well."

Athan lead him away from the sunlit hall and down one of the corridors off the first level balcony. The hallway was wide, but not overly large and the floor was bordered near the wall with a wave-like pattern of white and grey tiles. The walls on both sides were lined with windows. He had noticed that the tile patterns in some of the other halls they had passed in the Atrium were different colors.

"This is the Owen Commens area," Athan said as the hallway opened into another room. "Here you will find the student dormitories, study rooms, lounges and dining hall. Essentially, this is your home."

Harry nodded absently as he studied the room. It was cozy and spacious, featuring the same whitewashing on the stones and warm wooden beams that decorated the upper portion of the walls and ceiling as most of the rest of the school. It wasn't nearly as big as the Atrium, but featured a balcony on the second floor that was deeper and looked to hold a selection of couches and chairs. A wide, curving stairwell was on the right. A pair of double doors led off to the left into a spacious hall that was set up much the same as Hogwart's Great Hall. More doorways led to the right and off to the front of him as well as off the balcony area.

"Come, I'll find you a room."

Athan led him up the stairs and down one of the four hallways that led off of the balcony. Doors lined the hall at even intervals on both sides. Harry guessed that there was something near twenty of them. Most of them held a simple plaque that read a name, bordered in the same squared, wave-like pattern that was on the floors. Athan stopped at plain wooden door towards the end of the hall, and pushed it open.

"This will do," Athan said, standing aside as Harry followed him into the room.

It was about the size of his Hogwart's dorm room, though was L-shaped, and seemed brighter in color with the white walls. A washroom and closet was nestled into the space created by the shape of the room directly to his right, and two wide windows sat in the wall opposite the door. It was sparsely furnished, giving him only a double bed, a desk and a chair. The typical wooden beams hung low from the ceiling, nearly to the point that he could reach up and touch them with his fingers.

He liked it.

"I like it," Harry said, grinning at the space that was now his own.

Athan didn't reply, and just stood near the doorway as Harry inspected the washroom and closet.

"You do know how to ward, right?" Athan asked.

"Ward?"

Harry was sure he heard the man sigh.

"What are you? Wizard?"

"Uh, yeah," Harry said, not sure what else he would be.

"You'll have to cast wand wards then," Athan said. "They aren't as secure as some others, but they can be more varied than a sorcerer's wards. You will have to research the topic. I do not know much about wizard's wards, else I would give you some tips."

"Why would I need wards?" Harry asked, confused by the talk of sorcerers.

Athan raised his eyebrows, surprise flickering across his face. "Did Master Breasal tell you nothing of the trials at Arxum?"

"All he tells me is that I'll learn," Harry grumped. "I haven't a clue what you guys keep going on about trials."

Athan was silent for a moment, staring at him in something like surprise or incredulity; Harry wasn't sure.

"Trials are the way that Arxum tests its students," Athan said. "Trials can be anything, and given by anyone of equal or greater level than you, owen, adept or master. They are not scheduled, and are rarely preempted by a notice. Trials can vary in nature. Some are designed to test your magical skills, others your survival, character or knowledge. They can test to see what you know, or how well you've learned class material. Students often test each other to establish hierarchy amongst themselves. As a new student at Arxum, you'll be put through trials more than others until people are more familiar with you and what you are capable of. The wards on your room will help keep people out of it, and allow you to sleep more soundly in the night."

Harry stared at the other man, increasingly surprised as he continued the explanation. He would readily admit that he was a bit nervous. The concept of others breaking into his room to test his survival skills made him particularly edgy. He had a very strong feeling that life at ars Arxum was going to be very different than Hogwarts.

"I'll take my leave now," Athan said, with a small smirk. Harry nodded and watched the young man leave, closing the door behind him without another word.

Harry looked around his room again and pulled out his shrunken trunk from his pocket. It was time to unpack, and then he would have to find information about wards.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry spent the next two days ensconced in the Arxum library. He had found it quite by accident, nestled off the main floor of the Atrium and towering five stories high, full of more books than Harry knew to really exist in the world. Like most of Arxum's large chambers, the library featured a series of balconies and curving stairwells to connect them. Each balcony level was lined with more shelves and towers of books, with the occasional table, chair or sofa nestled into corners.

The kindly librarian, an elderly Madam Ingram, took an almost immediate liking to him and was happy to help him find the section on wizard's wards. When Harry first stared at the aisle and realized that half the books within were about warding with a wand, Madam Ingram took pity on him and helped him find a few books that detailed some of the basics of the subject.

That was when he learned that there were different sorts of magics.

"You mean that there are wizards as well as sorcerers and mages?" Harry asked.

The old woman smiled and nodded. "That's exactly it. Human magic takes on one of the three. You see, magic behaves differently for a wizard and a sorcerer. And mages, too are different. Of course, wizard magic is most common amongst humans, but humans are capable of being sorcerer or mage as well."

"What's the difference?"

"A wizard's magic is contained within a core in their bodies," Ingram said, motioning towards Harry's chest. "They use a wand in conjunction with specific words and motions to cast spells. Their magic is drawn from their core. You, Mr. Jameson, are a wizard."

Harry nodded. "And you?"

She smiled. "I am a sorcerer, or sorceress, either works as there isn't really a gender difference."

"What is a sorcerer's magic like then?"

"A sorcerer's magic comes more from outside of themselves rather than from within. Sorcerers don't have a core so much," she said, looking thoughtful. "We draw in and store our magic, unlike a wizard who naturally has their magic as a part of them, their own sort of energy, say. A sorcerer's magic isn't as versatile as a wizard's, but can be more powerful. We need a focus as well, though it can be any number of items including, but not limited to, a wand. Does that make sense, dear?"

"I think so," Harry said.

"Now for a mage," Ingram continued, easily falling into a sort of lecture mode. "Mage magic, like sorcerer magic, comes from outside of themselves, but doesn't really have to be stored. Mages have a great deal of power, and also draw magic for casting from their environment. This is somewhat different from both wizards and sorcerers. Sorcerers must draw magic into themselves and then cast out from that store. Wizards cast from their core, but mages draw magic directly from the environment and can draw much more power than either wizards or sorcerers are capable of.

"Now mage magic is very powerful and is more versatile than sorcerer magic, but not as varied as wizard magic. Ah yes, and mages do not need a focus or a wand. Their bodies themselves are their focus. Your guardian, Master Breasal is a mage."

Harry sighed and leaned back into his chair, somewhat overwhelmed by the new knowledge. Madam Ingram had left him after that and Harry was somewhat grateful. It seemed like a lot to take in. He had no idea that a human's magic could take on different forms. He had always figured that a wizard was a wizard and that was that. Apparently his world was far more detailed and elaborate than he had ever dreamed.

Harry rubbed tiredly at his eyes, pushing his glasses up over his forehead in the process. The books spread out in front of him were all on wizard's wards. Harry was a wizard, and so needed to cast his wards with a wand rather than some of the other methods used by the different sorts of magic-users. The subject of wizard wards was vast and somewhat complicated, but seemed to start out basic enough. Harry figured he would be able to cast a few basic wards soon.

"How is your research coming?"

Harry started, jerking upright and letting his glasses fall back crookedly on his nose. Liam looked at him in his barely-there amused sort of way and Harry felt somewhat sheepish for startling so much. The man was deadly quiet on his feet, and had snuck up on him on more than one occasion over the past few weeks. Harry was still not used to that. He rarely noticed the other man's arrival.

"Fine I guess," Harry said, straightening his glasses and looking across the books spread out before him. "There's a lot about wards, I'm kind of overwhelmed."

"Wizard's wards are an extensive field of study," Liam commented. "As are the breaking of them."

"Cursebreakers?"

"A cursebreaker is one position that someone who has studied warding and their breaking can take, yes."

Harry puffed out a sigh, leaning his chin in one hand, still staring at the books but not really seeing any of them. It was just so much information.

"It is a lot to take in, isn't it?" Liam asked softly.

Harry nodded awkwardly, his chin still in his hand. "I feel like I'm starting over again."

"Ah, yes. I understand."

And Harry knew that he did. Liam had left Hogwarts to attend Arxum when he was sixteen as well, the same age as Harry now. He figured if the other man could deal with all that the Wight school brought, than Harry certainly could. They were the same person, after all, once all was said and done.

"I don't suppose you'd help me with these wards?" Harry asked, looking at the man hopefully.

Liam's mouth twitched into a half-smirk and the man looked over the books on the table. "You have a good start, it looks like."

Harry sighed. "It doesn't always make sense, though."

"Explain what you're thinking to me," Liam said, settling into a chair across form him.

Harry nodded and launched into a rather piecemealed explanation of what he was thinking of doing with the wards for his room. With his limited knowledge on the subject (despite his intensive two day research spree) he really wasn't sure about most of his ideas. He knew he would have to start with some of the simpler ward spells and try to build them up from there, but he wasn't even sure he could build up wand wards. He told Liam his theories and plans, little that they were and sat back to see if Liam would give him some advice. Or maybe cast the wards for him.

"Alright," Liam started, pulling a chair out and sitting in it. "Wizard wards are a vast field and can take on many different forms and purposes. What you need to remember is that they cannot be cast at the same time."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I got that much."

"What you can do is layer them."

"One on top of the other," Harry said, "Is there a limit?"

"No."

"So," Harry stared at the tabletop absently, "I can cast as many wards as I want?"

"No."

Harry let out an irritated breath, and Liam's lips quirked slightly in amusement.

"Think about it, Harry," Liam said, dropping his half smirk. "What are wards tied to?"

"An anchor."

"And what is the anchor?"

Harry thought about that. He hadn't actually come across that information. He knew that an anchor was needed, but not exactly what it was. At some points he figured it was an object, at others the caster of the wards.

"I don't know," Harry conceded.

Liam nodded, seemingly pleased by Harry's admittance to his lack of knowledge.

"It can be any number of things, actually," Liam said. "It is most common for stationary wards to be anchored to an object, typically a stone or series of stones, sometimes gems. Temporary wards can be anchored to their caster, or another wizard, so long as they have the strength to hold them for that time."

"Alright, so for warding a room, I'd anchor them to an object."

"Yes, exactly."

"What sort of object?"

"One that can handle the amount and power of the wards you want it to hold."

They fell into a comfortable sort of silence while Harry listed different objects in his head. Liam had said stones or gems, though Harry had none of them at his disposal. He figured he could probably buy something, or maybe find it, but he didn't know what to look for yet.

"I'm going to have to do some more research, aren't I?" Harry asked, staring down at the books again. Liam chuckled softly at that, and Harry resisted the urge to scowl at him.

"How do you know so much about wizard wards, anyways, Harry asked petulantly.

One dark eyebrow rose at his comment, and Harry wondered if he had maybe insulted the man.

"I wasn't always a mage, Harry."

"How…" Harry trailed off, not sure that he wanted to ask how Liam went from being a wizard to a mage. Something told him it wouldn't be a pleasant story. Maybe it was the dark look in the man's eyes when Harry began to ask.

"It is rare, for a person's magic to change its nature like mine did," he said, his voice quiet. "There are multiple ways that such a thing occurs. One day I will tell you how it happened to me."

Harry frowned, but didn't push the issue.

"If I had a choice," Liam said, meeting Harry's eyes, "you would not follow the path that I did. If I can help it, you won't have to."

Harry's frown deepened but he still didn't ask the questions that he wanted to. It was not the first time that he had gotten the impression that Liam had regrets about his life and world. Harry had yet to figure out much about the other man's history. He was remarkably sparse with details and the few times that Harry asked anything about his past the man would divert his attention without really answering much. Harry trusted him that he would tell him – someday – but his curiosity wasn't about to go away.

"Are you ready for your testing?" Liam asked, changing the subject.

Harry groaned, sprawling back into his chair. "No."

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Author's Note:** A lot of new information here. Think you got it all? Shall I test you on it later? And there is more to come. Hah!

You know, it's rather fun to elaborate on this Wizarding World; making it more, deeper, vaster. It's like we got a glimpse of a harbor in the books and now I get to take you out to explore the vast ocean. Hah. Sentimental or something I guess…

Do enjoy my imagination. That is, after all, the entire point of this.


	22. Riddle Redux 01

**Author's Note:** A rewriting of Riddle Me This (which has a few installments in my Harry Potter Miscellany).

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**Date reference:** Harry James Potter, born on July 31, 1980

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Riddle Me This**

**(Revision)**

By Renatus

01 Back to the Beginning

oooOoooOoooOooo

_March 2007 – an unplottable manor near Brighton_

The idea was that the spell would kill Voldemort; one life for sacrifice to ensure that it was done. Harry volunteered. The remnants of the Order of the Phoenix around him didn't object. Hermione watched him as she laid out the basics of the spell with a resigned expectation, knowing that he would be the one to direct it, to give his life in order to ensure Voldemort's final death by it. She knew that Harry wouldn't let anyone else do it. He would take Voldemort to the grave himself.

"This spell will require a four man team to cast," Hermione said, eyeing Harry over the thin wire glasses on her nose. She had changed in the ten years since their Hogwarts graduation. They all had, if they survived. Her peppered brown hair was pulled back in a braid that snaked over her shoulder, and the years of book study had made her eyes degenerate into needing reading glasses early.

"Harry," she continued, looking back to the old tomb in front of her, "You will have to both guide the direction of the spell and overpower Voldemort, though with a team of casters, you will be provided with a generous amount of magical energy that may or may not be available to Voldemort in turn. It's not usually cast on two people at once."

Harry nodded as his eyes wandered around the semi-large room. He and Hermione had taken over a table in the corner, more separated from the rest of those in the room. The Order was segregated into small groups, each pouring over maps or books or in the case of Cho Chang, two of their injured. Harry watched as the Asian woman bound a broken arm and berated the two for their carelessness. He could tell that while she worked efficiently, her heart wasn't really into the lecture. She had given that same lecture more times than Harry could count, to everyone in the room. Cho ushered one of the two out of the room, no doubt to see to it that the young man got bed rest and what potions they had to spare him.

The Order's current Headquarters was hidden away in a semi-isolated old Muggle manor, surrounded by overgrown gardens and hiding a selection of underground tunnels that nobody knew the history of anymore. The thirty odd Order members who lived in the manor all contributed to the wards and defenses surrounding it, and the acquisition of supplies that were needed to keep them all active in the war. Harry watched as Moody gave an impromptu lecture to a few of their younger members, most of them barely into their twenties and all of them raised in a world of war. Harry could see a hard, etched coldness in their eyes that he knew was mirrored in his own features, unhidden by the week's overgrowth of beard.

"This spell will tie the two of you together," Hermione continued, "More than you already are."

Harry looked back at his friend, seeing the concern in her eyes and the determination etched across her features.

"Will our connection make it easier?" Harry asked, his voice quiet and a bit rough, tainted with an accent that was no longer British.

"I'm not sure, really," Hermione said, pulling her glasses off and leaning back in her chair to look at him. "He was the one who marked you and caused the connection. It is possible that Voldemort will have more control or power over that connection because of it."

"But you're not sure."

Hermione shook her head, "No, and I don't think there is a way to find out before hand, at least no way that doesn't involve you becoming very vulnerable to whatever mind magics he's got up his sleeve these days."

Harry took in a deep breath, letting his eyes wander around the room as he thought of her words. Hermione remained silent, letting him think. The spell she had found hidden away in the ancient book was one of the very few options they had left to them, and the only one that seemed to offer any hope at all for the future of their world. It held so many ways to fail though as well.

"What if you mark him?" Hermione said. Harry looked back at her, a bit confused but his mind already running through various scenarios.

"How?" he asked.

"Well," Hermione said, glancing around the room, "You're the current Head of the Order, and therefore you hold the power to place the Phoenix Mark on another. The nature of the connection is different from your scar, and the Dark Mark too, really, but it might be enough to help even the playing field, so to speak."

Harry stared at her a moment, surprised at the idea, especially as it involved placing the Order's Phoenix Mark onto Voldemort, their greatest enemy. The Phoenix Mark was designed to both identify fellow members and offer a means of limited communication. Voldemort's Dark Mark tied his followers to him in a magically binding contract, giving the Dark Lord some limited control over them as well as the few other side-effects, such as the summoning aspect. Harry wasn't even sure it was possible to place the Phoenix Mark onto Voldemort.

"The mark must be received, though," Harry said, "just like Voldemort's Dark Mark. The magics in either mark won't take with a forced application."

"But there is already a connection between you two, which may null that aspect." Hermione paused, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes tightly. "We could also change the spell used to place the mark."

Harry watched his friend, seeing the signs of her headache and weariness. Harry wasn't sure he liked the idea of manipulating the Phoenix Mark to force it onto Voldemort, but he also knew that if he couldn't gain the upper hand in the spell they wanted to use against him, that Voldemort would be able to direct the nature and result of the magic.

"Most of the magics of the Dark Mark can't be forced, but some of it can be," Harry said, his accent a bit thick as his thoughts turned to the dark magics that Voldemort favored. His accent was a remnant of his training; three years in the Siberian tundra of Russia beneath a skilled War Master Adept. Harry's Russian-accented English got thicker when he spoke about the subject of his Mastery. It always made him think of those years cooped up with the old, Russian War Mage.

"Yes," Hermione said, "that's a new trend of his. Do you know how he marks his followers?"

Harry thought about that, recalling the variety of memories and tidbits of information he had collected over the years. Voldemort marked all of his followers, some forcefully, and not all of them were really called Death Eaters, though it made little difference to the Order and their allies. Only the willing followers of Voldemort received that title, the rest were merely called Slave, or Cannon Fodder for all intents and purposes.

Voldemort's marking ceremonies were at times rushed with need and impatience, but in the earlier years of the war the Dark Lord took more care with inductions. He used to stage long ritualistic ceremonies that involved a lot of torture, blood and pain for all involved. Before Harry gained adequate skills in Occlumency he would often bear witness to portions of those ceremonies; the ones where Voldemort deigned to contribute to the cursing, therefore transmitting many of his emotions and senses to Harry.

"He uses Parseltongue," Harry said, "And Latin. I have never witnessed the full ritual, though."

Hermione nodded, though continued to nurse her headache, now rubbing her temples with her fingers. Harry watched her out of the corner of his eye as he surveyed the room again. A number of the Order members had wandered out, to find food or rest or both.

"Perhaps this is a futile line of thought," Hermione said, still not looking up. "Voldemort has marked you, that is clear. There is a connection there. Whether it will affect the balance of control between the two of you in this spell is unknown. Your Occlumency negates what power he has over you through the scar, now. The Pheonix Mark does not give you an adequate balance of control comparable to either the mental link in your curse scar, nor Voldemort's full Dark Mark. Perhaps you marking him will not make enough of a difference to bother with."

"Perhaps," Harry agreed. "The Pheonix Mark is not laced with the compulsions that the Dark Mark is."

"Yes, which is why you would have to alter the nature of the spell if you were to mark him."

"That is, if he would allow a marking."

"That's silly, Harry," Hermione said, glancing at him before closing her eyes again. "Of course he wouldn't."

"Who would power the four-point spell?" Harry asked, turning their conversation back to the main topic. He tried to think of four Order Members that would be compatible enough to tandem-cast a complicated spell together; four of them that he would trust enough to be the center focus of that spell. Harry heard Hermione suck in a breath, her vocals rumbling slightly, a habitual sound that told Harry that she was thinking and would likely have a good strategy soon enough.

"Neville and Cho are compatible," Hermione said, "And you trust them."

Harry nodded, even though she couldn't see him with her eyes still closed. The two healers were quite compatible, though each had their own medical focus. Cho specialized in charmswork and gentle healing methods, having studied in a pediatric ward until the war forced her to chose a side. Neville favored herbal-based remedies, and had developed a knack for identifying strange poisons and substance-based ailments. Between the two healers, the Order was well enough covered.

"I would recommend Moody, but his brut force is only balanced enough by you, and you need to be at the center, not at one of the corners," Hermione said. She took in a deep breath and let it out in a rush, pressing her palms into her eye sockets to try and alleviate the pressure in her head. Harry had the brief thought that he wished he had a headache potion for her.

"Seamus is compatible with Delroy," Hermione said.

"Not Delroy," Harry said. The boy was too young. He trusted him well enough, he had placed the Phoenix Mark on the young, former Gryffindor himself, but he didn't trust Delroy to survive long enough in the middle of a battle for the casting of the spell. He was too inexperienced and reckless.

"It will have to be me and Severus then," Hermione said, suddenly opening her eyes to look at him. Harry didn't respond, simply looked at Hermione in return, trying to sort out the emotions he had at the tone of finality in her voice. She was likely right in her deductions, that none of the other Order members in a casting team of four would be as effective as Neville, Cho, Severus and Hermione in equal corners. If Remus or Bill Weasley were still alive they might have been able to take Hermione's place opposite Snape, but there weren't many who could balance out the aura of magic that Severus had and remain compatible with the two opposing members of the team.

Harry reconsidered the possibility of Seamus and Delroy, verging on desperate to keep Hermione from further harm. She had taken enough punishments for this war. They all had, but her scars were painful and debilitating and Harry knew the vulnerability that she would have in placing herself in the middle of a battle again.

"Severus won't like it," Harry said, his accent thick again. She stiffened slightly then sighed, shifting her hands so that her palms covered her face fully.

"I don't like it either, Harry."

Harry remained silent, watching his old friend as she pulled her hands away from her eyes and met his gaze. Her brown eyes met his steadily, and he had a clear view of the years of pain that had etched shadows in their depths. Harry knew how Snape would react to the idea. The man would outright refuse letting Hermione near the spell, stating it to be complete idiocy. Harry could imagine the scathing words that would spout from the man at the thought of Hermione being placed in danger for the sake of a desperate spell that none of them could give any certainty to.

Movement from over Hermione's shoulder caught Harry's attention, and he watched as a young blonde woman approached them quietly. The woman, nearly a girl, was considerably younger than them, not yet even twenty. Harry couldn't recall her name, but knew that she had been a Muggleborn sorted to Ravenclaw, though had only attended Hogwarts for three years before the war and Voldemort forced those of the light to abandon Hogwarts. It had been a sad day for all of the students there at the time, as well as the alumni who helped the students escape the culling.

"Ms. Granger," the girl said, eyes flickering between Hermione and Harry before settling on Hermione. "Professor Snape sent me to get you. He said he needs a hand with a potion. I don't know which one it is."

"Thank you, Kendra," Hermione said. "I'll be there in a moment."

Kendra nodded, looked at Harry furtively and turned away to disappear out of the room. Harry eyed the girl as she left, watching unblinking as she glanced behind her twice as she left the room, something in her eyes or stance drawing his attention to her with a fluttering of mistrust. He closed his eyes as she disappeared out into the hall, and shook his head once, slightly. He was beyond paranoid, not trusting, seeing shadows in every corner and fear filled look.

Harry didn't say anything, simply watched as Hermione collected her parchments and papers, closed the old tomb and set them all aside on the table; they would be left alone by the other Order members. They all knew that Hermione used this table for her work and she didn't take kindly to someone meddling in it.

Hermione gave Harry a look that he couldn't really read, but he knew that he would not be able to argue with her analysis. She wouldn't let Severus argue with it either, he knew, though the two would certainly go through all the motions of an argument. If they went ahead with the spell she had found, she would be one of the casters.

Hermione pulled her hands off the table, and wheeled the chair backwards, turning it to face towards the doorway. Her robes floated empty where her feet and legs should have been, barely hiding the signs of her missing legs, severed just above her knees years ago to save her life from a spreading, consuming poison. Three others had died from that same poison before the Order began to carry the antivenom as a standard tool. Harry watched her as she worked the wheelchair with expert hands, maneuvering it around an Order member and through the narrow doorway out into the hall.

Harry lowered his head into his hands once she had left, feeling the building weariness of days with little sleep and a life lived on rations and bitter tea. His right leg throbbed; the bones of his knee and shin in more pieces than they were meant to be in, a years old wound that had never healed and never would, cursed and mangled as it was.

"Potter?" a voice pulled him from his blank thoughts and he peered upwards through his hands enough to see Moody's dark form standing over him. His face was old and grizzled, deep scars giving way to deeper lines, giving him the look of something carved out of old wood rather than flesh and bone; a wrinkled and folded form from out of a tale of faerie and dark wood. Moody had survived where dozens of others had not, fighting through the terror and war and short years of shadowed peace that Voldemort had laid over Wizarding Britain for nearly half a century. Harry honestly had no idea how the man was still alive, one of the last who had seen Voldemort's rise and all since.

Harry's oldest godson stood next to him, the seven-year-old boy gave him a smile and rounded the table. Harry grunted in response, not bothering to voice his acknowledgement to the old Auror as he let Teddy climb onto his lap.

"How are you, Teddy?" Harry asked, running his hand through the boy's hair. It was sandy brown and curly, Teddy's natural hair. The last time Harry had seen the boy Teddy's hair had been jet black and stringy, looking remarkably like Snape's usually looked. He had inherited his mother's gift, though Harry knew that Teddy couldn't yet fully control it. When he was in a level mood, his control was better, but his emotions drove the changes beyond his young control. Like Tonks, Teddy's metamorphmagus abilities were affected by what he felt, though the changes were so far limited to the boy's hair. Teddy could not yet change anything else.

"Good, papa," Teddy said, "Uncle Neville let me help him repot the Mandrakes."

Harry smiled at the boy, seeing his joy at being able to help. Teddy's parents had died only a few months after his birth, leaving the child to Harry, the only family left able to care for him. By that time Harry was a fully active member of the Order, and was moving and living with the main group. Even though Harry had no idea how to raise a child, he had plenty of help. With so few children around, the Order all helped to raise Teddy, and look after the boy when Harry went out on missions. Harry was the only parental figure that Teddy really knew, even though the boy called a good number of the Order members Aunt and Uncle. Teddy had been four when he called Harry 'papa' for the first time. Harry had been flabbergasted, and pleased beyond measure.

"Baby Mandrakes?" Harry asked, knowing already what Neville had asked Teddy to help him with. Neville always asked Harry if it was alright before inviting the boy into the greenhouse.

"Adolescent ones," Teddy said, and then smirked, "Sarik walked in without knocking again and he passed out from their screams."

"He's alright, then?" Harry asked with a smile. He knew that Sarik was fine, if under the thumb of two displeased healers. Cho had told him that Sarik would wake within a few hours after coming to him to complain about the lack of locks on the greenhouses and the general lack of discipline among the youths.

Teddy nodded, "You think he'd learn," Teddy said with a serious look, and looking for all the world like a miniature professor.

Harry laughed at Teddy's devious smirk, seeing the Marauder blood in the boy. Sarik was one of the youths they had rescued from Hogwarts, a Slytherin sixteen-year-old whose sympathies sided more with his muggle-born mother than his pureblood father. Sarik and Teddy had taken a nearly immediate dislike to each other, something that Harry didn't quite understand considering their age differences, but found amusing nonetheless. There was nearly a decade between the two boys, but they had claimed each other rivals anyways. Sarik wasn't always kind, so Teddy had taken it upon himself to teach the Slytherin some manners in the tradition of the Marauders. The two's antics had most of the Order in stitches if they weren't hollering after the two for their latest scrap.

"Granger talked to you then," Moody interrupted, eyeing the book left on the table. Harry nodded. "Good."

"She's already worked out the caster team," Harry grumbled, still not happy with his friend's decision, but knowing that her stubbornness had only grown over the years. He would not be able to stop her from being a part of the team short of cursing her himself, which he refused to do on principal alone.

"Who'd she pick then?" Moody asked.

"Neville, Cho, Severus and herself."

Moody's silence made Harry lift his head up to look at the man more fully, seeing both surprise and approval on his face. Moody, like Harry, knew that Hermione's magic could balance Snape's, and with the addition of Cho and Neville, the four of them would be able to cast a powerful and focused spell for Harry to work within. Hermione and Snape were both precise in their casting and bore an intimate relationship that made their magics highly compatible despite their other differences. The two men had the raw power balanced by the women's adaptability. Cho's and Neville's compassion and healing magic balanced well against Severus's and Hermione's more brutal bent, and all four of them had strong magical reserves and the careful control necessary to cast delicate and complicated spells. It was a good team, and they both knew it.

"Likely the best team we could put together out of what's left of the Order," Moody said, his voice a bit gruffer than usual. "Especially with you and the Dark Lord as the center of it."

Harry nodded again. "How are the youths?" he asked, changing the topic. Moody let him, much to Harry's relief. The Auror lapsed into a recount of the youth's most recent faults, interspersed by the occasional grudging praise. Harry listened, trying not to think about their plans too much. The Order would have to talk about the spell at more length eventually, and spend more time plotting a way to get Hermione onto a field of battle in a wheelchair and then maneuvering the spell casters amongst all the fighting that would likely be taking place.

Harry's greatest consolation with the plan was that it would get rid of Voldemort, leaving the world behind them to continue on without the greatest Dark Lord in centuries. Harry only vaguely wished that he would survive the spell to see it, but he was more than willing to traverse through death along with Voldemort in order to hold the Dark Lord from returning to the world. He just hoped that Teddy, Hermione and his friends would survive and be happy.

oooOoooOoooOooo

They put the spell into place the next month. They had been prepared to utilize it for weeks, waiting for the opportunity and hoping that the four-man team would still all be alive. In hindsight Harry figured that how it turned out was likely the easiest, but it didn't make it any easier to deal with. Voldemort and his Death Eaters attacked the Order Headquarters late one spring afternoon. The Order only had a minimal warning as the wards began to fall before the spells started flying. Voldemort had not yet shown himself, though Harry knew that the Dark Lord was nearby. The battle was somewhat chaotic in the rooms and hallways of the manor, but the majority of the fighting found its way to the large hall, where Death Eaters and Order Members circled the outside of the room while Harry fought off the Lestrange brothers in the center.

Harry snarled silently between his casting, his anger and fear heightened as his godson stood behind him, caught in the middle of the battle with nowhere to run to, protected only by the flickering, hasty disillusionment spell and Harry himself. Harry fought well enough considering he was also guarding Teddy who clung to his waist and hindered his movements.

The Lestrange brothers fell, first one and then the other blasted across the chamber to collapse in a heap against the far wall. Harry stood catching his breath behind a shimmering shield, his arm around Teddy and his leg throbbing from the effort. Teddy was quiet, though Harry could see the evidence of tears on his face as the boy's eyes darted around the room. Teddy's hair was fluctuating between white and black and back again rapidly, a testament to the boy's heightened emotions and fear. Harry tightened his arm around the boy, too winded to speak but trying to offer some sort of encouragement to him. He felt Teddy's shaky body still a bit and breathe a bit more evenly. His hair settled into dark, ashy browns and Harry rubbed his hand across the boy's shoulders, wishing that he could have gotten him out of the room, away from the fighting and anywhere but there, where Voldemort was.

Voldemort showed himself only moments later, barely long enough for Harry to take stock of the wounds he had gained from the Lestrange's, not enough time for him to catch his breath and offer comfort to the boy at his side. The fighting around the room seemed to stall at the Dark Lord's entrance into the hall. Harry caught sight of Hermione, blood marring one shoulder, but she looked back at him with determination and her wand was still in her hand. Harry took a moment to sweep his eyes around the room, finding the other three casters amongst the chaos. They were nearly in place to be able to cast the spell. Harry returned his attention to Voldemort.

Neither of them bothered with talking. They didn't have anything left to say to each other that hadn't already been said over the years. Harry held onto his godson tighter, pulling the boy close against his side as Voldemort threw the first spell.

It rang across his shield with a metallic sound, sending a shower of colorful magesparks out into the room around them. Harry could see Hermione in her chair out of the corner of his eye, Moody behind her to guard her, leaving Neville nearly in line with him beyond Voldemort's snake-like form. He knew that Severus would be opposite Hermione, with Cho opposing Neville as the four of them went through the motions of the short ritualistic spell as Harry traded curses with Voldemort. Harry only caught glimpses of them though, as he concentrated on his duel with the Dark Lord, matching his oldest enemy curse for curse and wound for wound, even as Harry guarded Teddy, at times in front of the boy, and at times holding his small body close to his own. After twenty-seven years of life, Harry nearly found himself equal to the Dark Lord's skills and powers. Harry had a brief thought that he should have been able to match Voldemort so much sooner.

But for all their equal dueling skills, Voldemort was still nearly impossible to kill and keep him dead. Harry had thought he had killed the man on more than one occasion, only to cry out in despair as he felt the link spark and pain at Voldemort's returning, stubborn spirit.

Harry threw a volley of spells, sliding closer to his adversary, all the while casting and recasting shields and barriers, feeling his godson's arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Harry pulled out of Teddy's arms, leaving the boy barely a pace behind him underneath powerful shields as Harry lunged forward. His hand clasped around Voldemort's forearm, and for a moment neither cast magic, but stared evenly into each other's eyes. Harry's magic heated and flared under his hand, burning deep into the Dark Lord's arm. Voldemort let out an angry shout and twisted away, and Harry half stepped and was half pushed backwards. His back crashed into the shields he had placed around Teddy causing magelight to flare brightly, and suddenly his godson's arms were back around his waist.

Voldemort stumbled and growled, gripping his arm tightly, almost clawing at the fabric to push the sleeve out of the way. As soon his skin was bared Harry could see it, the iridescent flaming phoenix that was now branded into him. It's color was off, a mixing of dungy whites and sickly yellows, trimmed in the half-green half-yellow color of vomit, making the bird look like some sort of terrible omen of death and disease rather than joy and healing and life. Harry smiled grimly at the sight, half proud and half sickened at the thought of the Pheonix Mark now on the very monster they were all fighting.

"Now we are even," Harry said darkly.

Voldemort hissed and his red eyes narrowed dangerously.

Harry felt the tingling of the magic of his friends, and a moment later silvery light burst forth from their wands, aimed at the two dueling in the square. Voldemort's eyes widened and narrowed in turn, and hissed at him. Harry returned it with a low snarl, dropping his wand and grabbing the magic as it whirled around them, taking control before Voldemort reacted and tried to do the same. The magic had four distinct lines, spinning around them like some sort of vortex, though Harry held the four ribbons of magic in his hands as they grew and spread. Voldemort slashed at them with his wand, though they didn't react.

The ribbons spread, encircling them in a great dome, wrapping around both of their limbs and bodies and lifting them up into the air. Harry could feel the magic in his hands, nearly hear the intent of it whispering in his head as his feet left the ground. The sight of the hall and the shocked, staring combatants faded and suddenly disappeared, leaving the two within a large, opaque sphere, ribbons of the silver magic twisted and tied around them. Harry felt Teddy's arms grip his waist, heard the boy's surprised yell, and nearly dropped the magic then and there. His godson was not supposed to have been a part of the magic. Harry glanced down at the boy, finding the silvery ribbons of magic twisted and tied around the two of them. Harry let out a choked cry. His godson would now be tied to the magic as he and Voldemort was. There was no way to remove Teddy from the clutches of the magic without stopping the spell entirely. Harry looked around the sphere frantically, pulling on the strands in his hand, preparing to tear the entire thing apart.

The magic pulled sharply in his hands, and his eyes shot back to the Dark Lord across from him. Voldemort grasped at the magic swirling around him, and Harry felt the connection and the struggle. The magic changed, changing to a gold-speckled green in his hands and slowly spreading outward from him. Voldemort's eyes narrowed to slits, and a moment later the magic he held in his hands changed as well, an ugly mixture of yellow and muddy brown that seemed to seep through the ribbons of magic like a poison. The two colors spread to cover the entirety of the magical sphere, the silver of the initial spell hidden behind the wills of the two holding power over the magic.

Then the battle between the two long enemies truly began.

Harry's vision wavered and faded, the view of the sphere replaced with the grounds of Hogwarts, and then the graveyard of Riddle Mansion. The visions continued to cycle, and Harry suddenly identified them as memories, flipping between his own and Voldemort's, harmless and horrible, pain and fear. They came faster than Harry could identify them, and faded before he could remember them, leaving only confusing, lingering emotions in their wake.

Harry tried to focus, recalling the spell, and pulling it to follow his will. Memories flitted before his eyes, catching his attention before he returned his mind to that of the Dark Lord's final death. He felt Voldemort's resistance ebb and flow as his own, sometimes strong and other times weak. Short memories of pain, then happiness, then grief and all others cycled through him, uncontrollable and unending, some stronger than others, some more distracting to his purpose for the spell.

Pressure built in the back of his head, in the corner of his mind behind which strong Occlumency shields protected his mind from Voldemort's link and prying dark magics. The pressure built into discomfort and then to pain, causing his mind to throb in time with the flashing images and emotions that ran before his eyes.

Harry had a flash of panic that changed to desperation as he felt a dark prickling run over his skin. The memories alternately slowed and flashed faster, and he noticed that the slower visions were those events that he shared with Voldemort; their battles and confrontations, the spells they threw at each other, sometimes harmless other times not nearly so.

A vision of a room wavered in and out, one that Harry vaguely recognized but couldn't identify. The pain in his head from the link with Voldemort flared and subsided before throbbing again, seeming to seep into his brain. The room steadied, every once in a while replaced with some other memory.

Harry suddenly recognized it, spotting a red-haired woman holding an infant to her chest. The pain flared again, tainted by hatred and fear and Harry focused on the image as he felt Voldemort's growing uneasy fear through the link. The room solidified, and remained steady, the colors and shapes coming into focus as he felt himself enter the memory.

He stood in the middle of the room, his head screaming in pain and fear flowing through him from the link as a young Dark Lord swept into the room. Harry barely recognized Voldemort without the serpentine features he had come to know, but he knew his mother's face instantly, as the two in the memory faced each other, one clutching at a child, the other towering in menace.

The memory played out, unwavering as Harry focused on the events, ignoring the pain in his head and the foreign fear and hatred that flowed through his veins. He watched as his mother defied the Dark Lord, standing tall even as she stood before her infant child, the child gripping the vertical slats of the cradle behind her and staring out with bright, big green eyes. Her wand was held steady, aimed precisely, despite the fear and desperation in her eyes.

The pain in his head flared, sending white light flashing before his eyes and the scene flickered, letting a short series of other images into his mind as his focus wavered. Harry scrabbled for the memory, the only thing he could think about through the haze of Voldemort's attack. The room came back into focus with a flash of gold-colored magic and a rush of foreign emotions and sensations rippling through his mind painfully, leaving him gasping.

Harry stumbled to his knees, the pain in his mind fading to a dull throb of pressure, and he blinked as he tried to get his eyes to focus. The feeling of magic had faded with the pain, and left Harry at a loss for what had happened.

His vision cleared slowly, though he was still seeing spots occasionally, and Harry took in the sight of the dark hardwood floor beneath his hands. He stared, the smooth wood surface hard beneath his hands and knees. He pushed himself to his feet, grimacing at the pain in his mangled leg as he stood.

Only one candle sat lit in a wall sconce near the door, and the sun had set past the horizon, leaving the room in a shadowy, flickering half darkness. The glass of the window had broken, letting in a chilly breeze that ruffled the curtains. Harry looked around and his breath caught in his throat as he saw his mother's prone body sprawled across the rug. Harry couldn't help but stare, his mind whirring with the situation. Taking a shaky breath he looked towards the cradle she had fallen in front of. The soft whimpering coming from within it confirmed Harry's theories about what he would find.

"Papa?" Teddy's voice floated over to him. Harry turned and found his godson getting to his feet. Harry leaned down and helped the boy stand, looking over the seven-year-old with a critical eye. He seemed unharmed, though clearly shaken. Teddy's hair was still fluctuating through shades of brown, though the color would stick every once in a while, showing that the boy was trying to steady his emotions and control his gift.

"Are you OK, Teddy?" Harry asked.

Teddy nodded looking up at him suddenly. Harry felt his eyes widen in surprise. Teddy's once warm brown eyes had changed to an inhuman yellow, the gold color that had marked his father's eyes, the eyes of a werewolf. As he watched the yellow faded slightly, leaving Teddy's eyes a glinting golden brown. Harry knew that the magics of the spell had finally awoken the magic and the werewolf within the boy. By seven years old, Teddy had yet to show any signs of magic except his limited Metamorphmagus abilities. No signs of Wizarding magic at all, which saddened Harry deeply, but Teddy had also so far shown no signs of his Lycanthropic heritage. Harry had begun to hope that the curse had bypassed the boy and that Teddy would be able to live his life without fear of the full moon; without the pain of the monthly transformations even with the cost of not being a Wizard. But Teddy had inherited gifts from both his parents. At the next full moon, Teddy would transform for the first time, and Harry was pained at the realization of it.

"What happened?" Teddy asked, looking around the room, and staring at Lily with wide eyes.

"I'm not sure," Harry said. He laid a hand on Teddy's shoulder. "Stay here." Crossing the room, careful not to disturb his mother's body, Harry peered over the edge of the wooden cradle and forced his lungs to take a breath they didn't want to take.

Lying amongst the blankets was the infant form of himself; complete with tuft of wild hair and green eyes. The infant struggled within the blankets, his eyes half open as he stared up at him. Harry stared back, at a complete loss for what to do or what had happened.

His head was foggy, as if filled with a sticky molasses, and he had a hard time recalling how he had gotten to where he was and why. Vague memories of his friends, of Hermione in her wheelchair in the midst of a battle, of a spell that encased him and Voldemort into a silvery web of magic, flitted across his mind, echoed with a soft groaning voice that came and went suddenly.

He had no idea what had gone wrong.

"He looks like you did," Teddy said from his side. Harry didn't bother to scold the boy for not following his directions. He was too much in shock at the sight of the infant, of his mother's body and all the implications that they meant. "Except without the scar."

Harry sucked in a sharp breath at Teddy's words, staring at the infant in sudden shock. His Godson was right, the infant Harry did not have the lightning bolt scar. The infant's forehead was clear and free from any wound or marking.

Harry stared at the infant form of himself, the child was fitful though quiet, squirming amongst the blankets of the cradle. He was small, not chubby like some children, but seemed healthy and strong otherwise. As he watched the child rolled onto his stomach and struggled to get to his hands and knees. The blanket hindered his efforts, but he didn't give up, gripping the slim bars on the cradle and pulling himself up to stand, wobbling slightly on his small legs. Harry looked into the child's eyes, meeting the bright green color that he saw every time he looked in the mirror, though the infant's eyes seemed warmer, wider, far more innocent than his own. The child stared back at him, then suddenly smiled and reached his arms up towards him.

Harry's mind whirled in a strangely blank state, recognizing vaguely the sensations of the realistic nature of his surroundings. What he was seeing was no memory, either from him or Voldemort. No one had stood in this room after the Dark Lord's mysterious disappearance and prior to Sirius Black's arrival to the house. Harry didn't even know how much time went by before anyone figured out that something had gone wrong at Godric's Hollow. Harry was actually in his own past, had somehow, unbelievably traveled back in time. He wondered if Hermione knew that the spell they had cast could have achieved such results, or if it was his own convoluted luck that had twisted the magic.

An animal cry cut sharply through his mind and he whirled on his heels, spotting a dark shape winging through the lone window of the room. A raven flew in through the window, the glass broken and missing, swooping towards him with red-tinted, malevolent eyes and sharp claws. It was a bird that was shaped like a raven, but was larger in body, and had red tinting its plumage in a strangely attractive splash of dark color. There was no doubt that it was no normal creature, magical or otherwise.

Harry had recognized those eyes immediately – he had known them all but one short, unremembered year of his life. Harry cast a quick, though powerful spell over the bird before he even thought much about it, his reflexes well trained to act without the need for thought. The spell web settled over the bird with a splash, sinking into it's plumage like water through sand, making the thing cry out sharply and tumble to the floor between window and cradle. Something in the curse-link in Harry's mind shifted and clicked into place, making him flinch at the sudden flare of pain. It subsided as quickly as it came, sinking and fading and leaving him with a strange pressure against the edges of his consciousness, similar yet different from the occluded curse-link to Voldemort.

Harry stared at the bird, watching it twitch and ruffle on the floor, clearly trying to gain its footing as the spell continued to sink and wrap around it in a tangle of spell lines. A classified dark spell that Harry had cast only once before, the magic bound creature to castor irrevocably. Harry let out a long, low breath, watching the bird's every move despite the spell. He wouldn't put it past either his luck or Voldemort to have some sort of way out of it. But the magic held strong, tying itself slowly into knots in his brain, telling him that he had successfully tied the soul of Tom Riddle into the body of the raven and raven to him.

The bird gained its feet, shuffling across the floor in a limited area and staring Harry down darkly. It's feathers were ruffled and raised, like a cat in a fit, and Harry raised one eyebrow at the sight, amused at the knowledge that this red-tinted, feather-askew raven was the soul of the once Dark Lord, trapped and bound to the will of his great enemy.

Harry had spent most of the following hour inspecting the link and trying to generally antagonize the raven into revealing the full nature of the bird. He didn't understand how it had occurred, but there was no dark mass of roiling magics within the bird that marked him as the Dark Lord. A small, cocooned sense of magic occasionally caught Harry's senses as he studied him, but it was nothing compared to the extreme presence that Lord Voldemort once exuded. The bird was clearly magical – clearly Wizard in a strange, shrouded way – but no more so than a Niffler or a Garden Gnome, and Harry's connection to it stemmed from the same source as his connection to Voldemort had, tied tightly beneath the knotting of the Bond Spell.

Harry wasn't entirely sure what to think about the fact that the Dark Lord's piece of soul had taken up residence in the form of a semi-magical raven and was magically bonded to him via a forced Familiar Bond. It didn't take long for Teddy to officially dub the bird 'Riddle'. Harry took solace in the knowledge that a similar link didn't occur between the raven and Teddy.

And Teddy was another focus for Harry's time waiting for Sirius's arrival. The boy had always been sharp and Harry was pleased to find that Teddy readily took to their situation. Even with Harry's deduction that they were likely stuck in their own past, Teddy took it in stride. Harry knew that even with a Timeturner, the only way to move forward was step-by-step, day-by-day. They were quite stuck where they were and there wasn't a thing to be done about it. With the boy's usually quiet nature, and life within the Order, Teddy had developed to be an observant and adaptable kid.

Harry covered Lily's body with a conjured sheet, and directed Teddy to sit away from it. He retrieved both Lily's and Voldemort's wands, slipping the Dark Lord's yew wand into his robes and fingering his mother's carefully. Both reacted to him, though Harry could feel a coarse darkness from Voldemort's and a soft warmth emanating through the light wood of Lily's that seemed to offer a type of comfort to him. He had wandered down the stairs and found James in the entryway. Harry recognized most of the curses still lingering on the body and felt his face slip into a hard blankness at the sight. He knew that the man was his father, but like Lily, he didn't feel much more than a soft sort of regret. He hadn't had the chance to save them, but he had never known them. To him sadly, they were only unknown victims with achingly familiar faces. He had covered his father's body as well, adding James's wand to his collection. The hardwood was warm, though in a different way than Lily's, as if his father's wand carried a sort of burning energy waiting to be unleashed in an explosive rush. He figured that the core was a dragon heartstring. Voldemort's wand had reacted the most strongly to him, but he didn't like the darkness in it, so he carried Lily's in his hand, the other two in his pocket. His own wand was nowhere to be found, and Harry wondered about it.

Harry then sat in the rocker near the window in the nursery and spent some time healing the worst of the wounds he had collected through the fighting. With his adrenaline still pumping, he didn't feel a lot of pain from any of them, but he made sure to cancel any curses still active on his person, and cast a few directed healing spells that would keep him from bleeding to death.

It was a full hour later that Sirius Black arrived in Godric's Hollow, the young man in ungilded Auror robes staring from the doorway in a mixture of shock, surprise and despair. By that point Harry had fully come to terms with the idea that he was in 1981, was staring at his own infant self – though unmarked by any curse scar, and that both his godson and the Dark Lord he had tied to himself from the future had come with him.

Sirius shifted, taking one step into the room, his grey eyes flickering painfully between Lily's covered body, Harry with Teddy curled in his lap, and the raven on the bedpost of the child's cradle next to him. Harry watched him cautiously in return, completely unsure how the man was going to react to his presence. Sirius's eyes settled on Lily's prone form, a red lock of hair peeking out from beneath the blanket. Harry had taken the time to close her still open eyes, and cover her, but he couldn't bring himself to touch her otherwise.

Sirius made a strange noise in the back of his throat and Harry finally took the opportunity to stun him. Sirius didn't have time to turn towards him before he collapsed to the floor in a heap, a startled look on his features that made Harry have flashbacks to the man's disappearance through the veil at the Ministry.

Harry refused to let his godfather spend a moment within the hell of Azkaban. He hadn't seen his godfather in years, over a decade without the one man Harry knew as family. A decade spent dreaming the nightmares of his godfather's death, the death that Harry had unknowingly, inadvertently led him to. It was the one guilt that had never faded. One loss that burned sharply every time he thought of it, stronger even than when he lost the Burrow and the family that had lived there.

Harry rose, favoring his mangled right leg and picked up the infant, cradling the child carefully in his arms. The boy was asleep, though restless. Harry didn't blame him. He wrapped his arms around him a bit awkwardly, settling the infant in one arm and limped his way over to his godfather. Sirius was crumpled in a heap against the door jam, his legs folded under him in a position that Harry knew to be uncomfortable.

"Teddy," Harry said, gesturing for the boy to join him. Teddy obeyed with his usual silence, wrapping his arms around his waist and eyeing the man heaped on the floor at their feet. Harry leaned down enough to grip Sirius's shoulder and apparated them all out of Godric's Hollow. He left the raven to follow on its own.

The infant in his arms woke at the feeling of the side-along apparation, crying softly as Harry twirled into existence at his destination. Harry shifted him to his shoulder, shushing him and rubbing the child's back. Harry watched the child's head, the lock of wild hair so familiar to his own. The child slowly quieted, though was still clearly shaken and gripping Harry's robes with tight little fists.

"Where are we?" Teddy asked, looking around the room.

Harry glanced around, taking in the dusty room and cloth-covered furniture. It was dark, though a wave of his hand brought flames to the candles and the fireplace, bringing light to the familiar room.

"A flat near Diagon Alley," Harry said, "You've never been here before."

Teddy nodded as he circled the room, eyeing the furniture and the wide fireplace along one wall. It was dark out the tall windows, though the lights of the alley and the city beyond could be seen blinking through the curtains.

Harry divested his godfather of his wand, pulling the length of wood from the man's sleeve, and placed it on the mantle in easy view and turned to regard the man he considered to be one of the last members of his family. Harry had never known his parents, and apparently, even in a second chance, would not. Their loss a second time did not hurt him, though he felt some sadness at the poor timing. He hadn't had the opportunity to prevent their deaths.

Sirius looked young – extremely so to Harry, who had only known him after his stay in Azkaban, which had made him look far older than he should have. The young man was dressed in the functional cobalt Auror robes, only a few pieces of insignia stitched onto it to show rank and position. His hair was long enough to tie back into a half-ponytail, leaving him looking a bit noble and handsome.

Harry pulled Lily's wand from his pocket and cast an enervate at his godfather, watching as Sirius woke suddenly, blinking as he looked frantically around him. Teddy watched from a corner, having sat in a plush, sheet-covered chair near the door.

"Sirius," Harry said, standing still a few paces away, favoring his right leg. Sirius looked to him sharply, staring at him and shifting his eyes to the quiet child in his arms.

"He isn't hurt," Harry offered, shifting the infant to turn the child to face Sirius.

"What do you want?" Sirius asked sharply, "Who are you?"

"I want to stop Voldemort," Harry said simply, not yet deigning to answer the second question.

"Where is my wand?"

Harry nodded to the mantle, Sirius stood, seeing his wand, and looking between it and Harry suspiciously.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sirius," Harry said, knowing the look on the man's face.

"Where are we?" Sirius demanded.

Harry glanced around, taking in the familiar room, the dust and sheets over the few pieces of furniture. "Apartment eight at five-twenty-three Diagon Alley," Harry said. "A Potter property."

Sirius looked around, a little surprised. "This is the Potter's apartment?"

"I believe it belonged to Charlus before he died."

Sirius looked back at him, "James's uncle." Sirius narrowed his eyes at him, "What do you want?"

"I won't hurt you or this child, Sirius," Harry repeated. "But I cannot let you leave to go after Wormtail. Not now."

Sirius' face changed drastically. It went from caution to rage in a matter of seconds. Harry watched him curiously, taking in the full cheeks and lively eyes. He had never seen the man so whole. Azkaban had broken more of Sirius Black than Harry had known. The man Harry had called godfather, had known for the agonizingly short few years, was merely a shell of what the man before him was. Harry's resolve to make sure Sirius never went to Azkaban doubled.

"The traitor," Sirius snarled. That was something that Harry had seen in him before, the sharp rage that had never dulled even after thirteen years in Azkaban. It had only been honed into a fine, sharp-slivered point.

"I know," Harry said. "But he will frame you and escape. He will be dealt with."

Sirius stared at him, the rage still evident but curiosity and caution crept into his eyes as he stared at him.

"Who are you?" he demanded, taking a step towards the fireplace. Harry watched him, and made no move to stop his godfather from getting closer to his wand.

"It's complicated," Harry said.

Sirius continued to stare at him, his eyes flickering every so often to the child in his arms. Harry could see that the infant was awake, one of his thumbs stuck in his mouth as the child's head bobbed a bit.

"What do you want with Harry?" Sirius asked.

Harry glanced down at the child, reminded sharply that he was holding the infant form of himself in his arms. It was distinctly unsettling.

"To help him, I suppose," Harry said, unsure really what he did want. He knew only that he could not let the child get placed with the Dursley's. He would not let that part of history repeat itself. He didn't care what Dumbledore said about blood protections. He would not allow it.

"To fix it," Teddy suddenly said from his corner. Sirius whirled, clearly surprised at the boy's presence. Teddy looked back at him, his head cocked slightly to the side. Teddy's hair had settled back into its normal form, and he looked a lot like his father. Harry wondered if Sirius saw the boy's father in him. Teddy resembled Remus in so many ways.

"To fix it?" Sirius asked, looking between Teddy and Harry. Harry could see that the man was more curious than cautious. At least as much that Sirius's curiosity outweighed his suspicions.

Harry glanced at Teddy, before looking back to his Godfather. "Me and Teddy are," he paused, finding it more difficult to explain than he had thought. "We are from the future."

Sirius stared at him, his mouth slightly open in surprise or disbelief.

"As I said, it's complicated," Harry said, shifting his hold on the slightly squirming infant in his arms. Sirius blinked quickly and shook his head before returning his eyes to the child.

"I will give him to you, Sirius," Harry said, suddenly looking up at his godfather. "With one condition."

Sirius narrowed his eyes at him dangerously, taking a step towards him with a clenched fist. Harry was aware that his godfather was not pleased with the situation, but he didn't know how else to handle it.

"Don't go after Wormtail," Harry said, meeting his godfather's eyes.

"What?"

"Let me deal with Wormtail's treachery," Harry said, his own anger at the rat leaking into his tone, "This child needs you now."

Sirius looked between the two, clearly weighing the merit of the deal.

"Why?"

Harry didn't really have an answer. Not an easy one.

"How can I know you won't aid him?" Sirius demanded, "How do you know he was the secret keeper?"

Harry didn't respond, knowing that his answer would only beget more questions and confusion. He did not know how to start in his explanation to Sirius.

"Who are you?" Sirius demanded, taking another step closer to his wand and to Harry.

Harry didn't answer, unsure if he should, or could. He was sure that his features were familiar to Sirius, Harry was fully aware of his resemblance to his father, even with the scars and the coldness of the lines of war. He knew that his eyes were that of his mother's. Few people who knew his parent's faces did not see that Harry was every bit theirs.

"I am…" Harry paused, staring at his godfather, steadily ignoring the urge to look at the child in his arms, and forced the words out of his mouth, "I am Harry Potter."

oooOoooOoooOooo


	23. One Eyed jack 01

**Author's Note:** A plotbunny that's been bothering me lately, practically howling at the moon, it was. Still is, really. Anyways. Here's a small piece of it, the stubborn thing...

oooOoooOoooOooo

**One-Eyed Jack**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

The concept of the worldlines was a convoluted affair involving physics and thought-principles and nothing at all verifiable in either world. Viewed as a concept bordering on fictional, or at least an elementary illustration of a highly complex theory, a worldline was generally a representative of the course of events of an object as it traverses its unique path through four-dimensional spacetime. And explaining time in anything but the most simple of terms only ever invited confusion.

Severus Snape could not explain the concept in any simpler form, much to his annoyance. His son's lack of knowledge of even the more basic physics concepts prevented it. He glowered, knowing his displeasure and disapproval were all but radiating from him in palpable waves, both seen and felt by the young man seated before him. His son met his eyes squarely, despite this, the green color cold and challenging and set in a face that showed both acceptance and desperate determination.

He looked so much like his mother with that expression. It was the eyes – always the eyes – that reminded him of the boy's mother. But he was no longer a boy, despite Severus' continued use of the address. His son was full grown – as grown as he would ever get – having settled into a broad-shouldered, if short physical stature, strung tight with muscles and magic. His dark hair was cropped wildly, curling at the ends and nearly hanging in front of his eyes, shadowing the vibrant green color into something eerie, lit with an inner light that was barely discernable, if only out of the corner of your eye. A simple, black patch was strapped around his head, covering his right eye and most of the scar that zig-zagged from his brow to his cheekbone.

A bright flash of light suddenly lit up the room, followed closely by the too-close roar of thunder that rattled the windows and vibrated the floors. It rumbled up through his feet and legs to strike at his heart, making him feel as if it had skipped a beat or two. Severus looked out the window, catching sight of the fading sparks of a dying ward, the unraveling lines of magic curling and waving slightly in an unseen wind like a ripped spider's web. It showed its shape, the ward domed and high, curving up and over the house they were in like a snow-globe. The ward continued to unravel in a chain reaction, shredded and shattered and falling to the ground in a slow rain of fading sparks, reinforcing the vision of being trapped within a souvenir toy.

"That was the Animagus Ward," his son commented, his voice low and smoky, tinged with the rough sound of either over or under-use.

"Yes," Severus said, still watching the ward wall at the edge of the lot. It was shimmering, strained under the onslaught of attacks it was subjected to. One by one, the layers of the wards would be brought down, he knew – they both knew this.

A growing urge to cough overcame him, racking his body violently and making his throat burn with the force of it. He crossed his forearm over his mouth, the motion not comforting, but it served to catch the upheaval of flegm and blood on the fabric of his robes. The metallic taste of blood lingered on his tongue and Severus took quick, shallow breaths as he tried to control the sickness. The black material of his dress hid the color of blood that spattered his sleeve, but he wasn't naïve enough to think that his son did not notice it, couldn't smell it, taste it on the air in the stuffy, dusty room.

His son was, at least, polite enough not to say anything.

"We're running out of time," Severus said, taking another sweeping glance out of the line of windows to the ward wall. The ward's lights had dimmed somewhat, letting him catch a glimpse of the indistinguishable shapes of the wizards on the outer side, little flashes of magic highlighting their red robes, even in the dark of the half-moon that the night gave off.

"Just do it then," his son said, "I don't need to understand it."

Severus frowned, inspecting his son critically, as if the boy was some potion gone wrong somewhere and he didn't know at what stage the mistake had been made. He wondered if he had managed to teach the boy anything at all and was inclined to believe that it wasn't his teaching skills that were at fault, but rather the boy's inability to listen to any word of rationality.

"Looping a worldline isn't something that is just done, willy-nilly, boy," Severus said, ignoring the eye-roll his words garnered from his son. "This magic is nothing more than a flimsy theses based on conjecture and fiction, how you – "

"Just cast the bloody spell, Snape!"

Severus felt the force of his teeth snapping together throughout the entirety of his jaw to his ears. The severe discomfort did little to dull his anger, and the both combined served to wipe most of his lingering objections out of his mind.

The gripping urge to cough forced him to curl over with the force of it, hacking into his palm while another bright flash of a breaking ward lit the sky outside, shining in through the windows in a brilliant array. It rumbled the ground as if it had been thunder, shaking the house and him with it. He desperately tried to get his own deteriorating body under some semblance of control. The fit passed and Severus remained how he was, breathing through the rawness in his throat and the acrid smell of his own blood that had pooled in his hand.

"There is no other chance," his son said, his voice even and toneless. "Even if it fails, even if it splits my own worldline into two, even if it splits into a dozen and I'm lost in a tangle, I see no other option. It's a worthy gamble."

Severus bit back his comment on the boy's near-sightedness, more due to the rawness of his throat than any hesitancy to insult his son's inability to see the varieties of dangers his plan opened to him. He straightened slowly, stiffly, wiping the blood in his hand onto his robes and meeting the one visible green eye of his son.

"Chances are," Severus said, his voice laced tiredly with a hint of sarcasm, "that you will not loop into your own worldline at all, and end up somewhere else entirely. Useless and unable to affect your own future, lost in some other version of your past – what could have been or what was in another time, under other choices.

"Fool!" Severus suddenly flung at him. His son's lips pursed slightly, his eye narrowing, but he otherwise didn't react. "You will run off into some broken trail of your worldline, lost and unwelcome, and you will do no good to the future that you were born to!"

His son surged to his feet, knocking the wooden chair he had been sitting in back onto the floor. Severus towered over the younger man, staring down the length of his nose at the unruly head of dark hair that barely reached his chin.

"You bastard!" His son spat at him, voice filled with the same vitriol that was in his fathers'. "This was your idea! You said it yourself, this is the only chance! Don't you back out of it now and twist your own cowardice onto me. Now cast the damn spell!"

Severus felt his eyes narrow into dangerous slits, taking in the face of his son, it's shape and eye color, the eye patch, the scar that had marred his life and marked his path with narry a by-your-leave to the one it adorned. The boy had never had choices, not many, not any that weren't steeped in consequences. He had been shaped to be a weapon in a war that wasn't his simply because he had been born at the wrong time. He had been the target of the war, not a participant in it, not a combatant or a leader or victim. He was the prize, and the most deadly weapon.

Severus disliked most everybody and hated many people with little reason, but he loathed those who put his son into the life he was forced to lead, himself included.

It had been his idea, looping his son's worldline, sending the boy on a circling journey through his own spacetime. It was theory; only a theory. But if it worked… Severus raised his wand.

"Orbis Funis Tractus."

Severus spoke the spell words clearly – far clearer than his raw throat should have allowed – magic building in a spiraling pattern around his wand, it's end pointed squarely at the gut of his son. The words echoed, building in an increasing bass sound that thumped against his chest, throwing his heart into a strange rhythm.

His son blinked slowly once, then met his eyes, his face a fluttering show of emotions that Severus had rarely seen from the boy – no man. His son deserved at least some acknowledgement, if only due to his stubborn determination to live to even reach an age where he could be considered anything but a child. His son had been a man for many years.

Severus's magic built, pulled from him in a steady, demanding stream, moving from his wand to coil around his son in a whirlwind, encasing him like some twisted coffin. It distorted his vision, making distinguishing the look on his son's face difficult at best. The magic wound tighter, compressing on itself like a spring waiting to be released.

A blinding flash of light from the yard outside lit the room, reflecting off the coiled whirlwind and giving Severus one final glimpse of his son's face – determined, hopeful, free. The backlash of the falling wards shook the house in a deafening roar, rattling windows and the chandelier and portraits off the wall.

The whirlwind stretched upward, uncoiling swiftly in a vertical line that shot out through the ceiling in a gentle arc. The entirety of the magic followed, like a slinky being lifted up by one end, it's coils and springs bouncing after the rest of itself. It lifted his son up and away, enshrouded in magic and light and – he was gone.

The ward wall's showering unraveling continued to light up the yard outside, shining streams of white, sparking light through the windows as if it were mid-day and not the dark hours before dawn.

Coughs again racked his frame harshly, sending him to one knee as he tried to suck in air between hacks and heaves. The copper taste of blood filled his mouth and he didn't bother to catch it with his hand, or hide it. He spit it out with a grimace and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

He stared at the spot his son had been standing a moment before, matching him glare for glare, insults traded like old rivals rather than father and son, the boy's green eye flashing bright and passionate and willful. It had been long years since he could cow his son simply with words, or even aided by a wand. It had been even longer since he had wanted his son cowed – by anyone. Looping his son's worldline was a desperate gamble against the forces of the war. It was a gamble because Severus doubted the loop would take his son to a past that would affect this world. It was a gamble not for this world, and Severus had accepted that. It was a gamble for his son, that he have a life where he would know choice, this world be damned.

Severus stood shakily, sickness making his body weak, the use of a wildly powerful spell making his magic weak. The weight of the breaking wards battered against his senses and his magic like a spiked club and his hands trembled, barely strong enough to hang on to his wand. The red-robed figures had fanned out across the lot, the wards weak enough for them to force their entrance into his home. He grinned, dark and triumphant.

Their prize was no longer here.

oooOoooOoooOooo


	24. Cast Out 01

**Disclaimer:** Crossover: Supernatural x Harry Potter. AU. Standard fan-fiction disclaimers apply; ie: this ain't mine.

**Warnings:** Paranormal activity, language, violence, cons, scams and generally bad influence type behavior.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Cast Out**

By: Renatus

oooOoooOoooOooo

01 : Trust, But Take Care Whom

oooOoooOoooOooo

_evening, April 16, 2006_

_a field, South-Eastern Iowa_

It was sunny, if chilly, the sky spotted with thin wisps of cloud that wasn't even enough to cast any sort of shadow when they passed in front of the sun. A flock of small birds shot across the sky, sending small patches of shadow across the field and the lone tractor rumbling across it. The smell of freshly turned earth hung heavy in the air as Jacob Shorne steered the tractor across the field. An old, half-rusted bucket of a machine, it rumbled darkly and jerked with every roll and rise of hard ground, making Jacob grit his teeth against the bone-jarring motions.

He risked taking one hand off the wheel, adjusting the thick cigar held between his teeth, and brushing the rough tips of his fingers over the stubble on his jaw. The tractor lurched once, twice, and his hand shot back out to the wheel, more to steady himself atop the machine than to affect the steering any. The strong scent of his cigar wafted up his nose before the forward motion of the tractor let the wind carry it out behind him.

The sun was getting low, casting half the field into shadow from the thin line of woodland at the far end of his rows, and he was nearly finished with his tilling. The tractor rumbled into the patch of shadow, the woods dark and gloomy that had the hairs on the back of his neck raised and a shiver shot down his spine. He eyed the woods disparagingly, curling one side of his mouth up around the cigar at his own jumpiness.

It was as he was turning the tractor, halfway through the u-turn shape that would send him back along the field, with the thin shadowed trees reaching up over him that it happened. Jacob didn't know what hit him. Something hard and furred and sharp slammed into his chest, sending him flying head over heels off the tractor and into the dirt.

His first thought was of the plow blades – cutting into the hard-packed earth, sharp enough to slice through flesh and bone – still being pulled forward by the tractor that continued on its way without him. He scrambled backwards, crablike, staring at the approaching wide plow with rising horror.

It never reached him.

Pain flaired across his shoulder, heat and liquid streaming down from the sharp wounds. He was yanked backwards, dragged painfully across the rocky ground by whatever had dug into his shoulder. His cigar dropped from his mouth, burning a scattered trail down his arm as it fell to the grass. He caught a glimpse of dark fur, of a massive body, it's clawed feet digging through the earth, catching on his ribs and pulling a pained yell from him. The thin trees and high grasses of the woods swallowed them, hiding his view of the field, and sending his vision into shadows.

Pained, desperate screams echoed out of the woods, fading across the gentle rolls of the half-tilled field and only drowned out momentarily by the tractor as it crashed with a grinding sound of folding metal against rock. A preternatural howl shot across the land, traveling far further than the sound of either the now-silenced screams, or the crash of the machinery.

Silence descended, with not even the sound of the wind in the spring leaves to break it and a thickening trail of smoke curled up from the edge of the field.

oooOoooOoooOooo

_1:30pm, April 17, 2006_

_Singer's Salvage Yard, South Dakota_

There were times when Harry really hated Hunters. Having a sawed-off shotgun loaded with Merlin knew what sort of rounds aimed at his chest was most definitely one of those times. It reminded him of the days late in the war when Moody's paranoia would have the man shooting off stunning spells at anything that moved. And really, Moody and Bobby didn't look all too different from each other – if one gave Bobby Singer a magical eye, and a few extra scars the two could have won a look-a-like contest.

Bobby gestured with the gun – without actually letting it waver from Harry's chest – and Harry slowly took a step to the side, away from his bike, letting his hands raise slightly in the meantime. Bobby didn't move save for the firm lines of his face deepening from guarded to something of a displeased scowl.

"Heya Bobby," Harry said, giving the man a slightly crooked smile and small wave, "it's been a whi –"

The shotgun exploded and Harry moved out of reflex. Pain flared across his shoulder and he stumbled, one knee crashing into the dust from his hasty, if rather useless, dodge. He clutched at his shoulder, the flare of heat either from blood or pain, he couldn't tell yet.

"Bloody fucking hell!" he swore, gripping his shoulder in an attempt to stem the pain. He glared at the man from his crouched position in the dirt. With Bobby standing up on his front porch, and Harry on his knee, there was a considerable height difference. Bobby had shouldered the shotgun, and had settled back on his heels, smiling grimly down at him with an air of satisfaction.

"What the hell was that for?" Harry demanded, still clutching his shoulder and not yet moving.

"I told ya I'd shoot ya next time I saw ya."

Harry scowled, nearly sneering at the man. He checked his shoulder, pulling his leather jacket away in order to get a better look at the injury. There wasn't blood, though his shoulder still throbbed in a way that warned him that he'd be dealing with the pain for a while. White, chalky marks marred his jacket where he had been shot. Harry got to his feet and glared at the man standing over him on the porch.

"Rock salt?" Harry asked, a note of derision in his voice.

Bobby just smirked darkly.

"You're a right paranoid git, you know that?" Harry grumbled, his British accent more pronounced with his ire.

"And you attract more trouble than you're usually worth."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry glanced at his bike, ensuring that it had remained un-shot. He eyed Bobby and the gun over his shoulder. "Are you going to shoot me again?"

"If you steal my books again I will."

Harry smiled thinly. "I brought it back."

"In pieces."

Bobby shifted the gun back into two hands, a threatening gesture if Harry ever saw one. He raised his hands again, hunching his shoulders sheepishly.

"Yeah alright, alright," Harry said, keeping his hands up in front of him, "I get it. No stealing the books. Check."

Bobby huffed out a breath, squinting his eyes at him. "What're you here for, Black?"

Harry turned serious at the question. "I need some information."

"And you think I've got it?"

"If you don't, I think your books might."

Bobby's expression turned dark. "If you destroy my books again, Black, I'll do more than shoot you with rock salt."

Harry chuckled nervously, pretty sure that he didn't want to find out what the man would do should Harry ever damage one of his books again. "Noted."

"Good." Bobby shouldered the shotgun again and headed into the house. Harry followed a moment later, careful not to disturb the line of salt stretched across the threshold. He took the offered shot of water without comment, downing it in one go. He was used enough to the paranoid sorts. Being served holy water instead of tea or a beer had nothing on Moody's hospitality.

Bobby visibly relaxed when nothing strange happened – like melting skin or burning flesh or other such unpleasantness. Harry debated handing the man his own source of holy water, but figured it'd be pointless, and might get him thumped on the head.

"Now, what sort of information are you looking for?" Bobby asked.

"Dark rituals, probably of Wizarding origin."

"You don't just start easy, do you Black?" Bobby gestured to the stacks and shelves of books in his living room, inviting Harry to search through them on his own.

"Course I did," Harry said, eyeing a few leather tomes on a shelf. "I was eleven when I encountered my first possession, mind it wasn't a demon, but the Dark Tosser was probably close enough to one. I've been increasing the difficulty of my adversaries ever since." Harry moved his hand as if it was stepping up a ladder, rung by rung as he talked, "Giant snakes, poltergeists, dark wizards, fear incarnate." Harry paused as he pulled a book from the shelf, flipped through it quickly and replaced it with a frown. "Did I ever tell you about the dragon?"

Bobby shook his head, watching the young man rifle through his shelves with an uncanny speed, considering Bobby had only let him into his home twice before.

oooOoooOoooOooo

_3:00pm, April 17, 2006_

_tree-lined farmland, South-Eastern Iowa_

The high-pitched, steady whine cut through the relative silence of the woods, silencing the few remaining creatures and sending the birds into the air. Dean raised one eyebrow at the reader in his hand, eyeing the line of bright lights and cringing at the noise it was making.

"Dude, the EMF is off the charts!" He said, looking up at his brother. Sam was a few paces away, inspecting a particularly large patch of darkened earth, his brown hair more wild than usual, as if he had just ran a hand through it. The dirt was thick and muddy, dark with the gallons of water that had been used to put out the fire that had stretched across the entire patch of early grasses. The fire department had thoroughly marred the scene, spraying water from a tanker across a wide arc of trees and grass, though traces of dark stains could still be seen on the bark of the trees. And it was everywhere – splashed against the rocks and spindly trees in a wide pattern of struggle and destruction and massacre. The sunlight streaming through the young leaves of the trees would occasionally catch on one of those dark patches, revealing the rusted red tinge of dried blood. It was almost hard to see with all the water-soaked mud and charred grass and timber, but the faint scent of the metallic substance was still there under the smoke.

"Just shut it off, then," Sam said, sending a scowl at the EMF reader in Dean's hand. Dean glanced at the row of lights once more before shrugging and clicking the machine off. The whine died and left them in relative silence, broken only by the wind and the occasional sound of small critters crawling through the woods.

Dean pocketed the reader and moved to stand next to his brother. "So, what do you think did it? Werewolf?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so."

Dean looked around the small clearing, taking in the scattered array of blood and destruction.

"Here, look," Sam said pointing out a series of strange markings in the mud. Dean glanced at them, ready to dismiss them as the firefighters' boots or any of the state police that had traipsed through that morning. But the print wasn't made from a boot, and it wasn't even human.

"Looks like some kinda creature," Dean commented. "Bear maybe, or a really big dog."

"Werewolves take the heart, but they don't have much interest in the rest," Sam was saying, "and I don't think they could have done that."

Dean followed where his brother was pointing, looking up into the tall reaches of the trees above the blood-splattered area. The bones of a man hung like a parody of a hanged-man, stretched out across the trussed, spindly branches of the canopy. They were stripped clean, gleaming white in the patches of sunlight, held together by absolutely nothing that anybody could see – just stuck up in the tops of the trees, crowned by the unnatural bend of the branches that circled and interlaced like a buttressed cathedral. No sign of the man's organs or skin was evident; the only remains of him being the eight liters of blood soaked into the twelve yard radius and the clean bones hanging like magic in the tops of the trees. Even the smoke from the fire hadn't reached them, leaving them unnatural white where they should have been stained dark by smoke.

"Man, we are so out of our league," Dean said, staring at the bones. He had no idea what could have done _that_.

"It's gotta be some sort of magic effect," Sam said, "just a matter of what sort, really."

"Does it matter?"

Sam sent his brother a displeased look. "Yes."

"How?" Dean said, still staring at the bones and now circling the area under them, craning his neck back in order to keep his eyes on them.

"C'mon, Dean," Sam said, watching his brother circle the cleared area, "if it's some sort of occult practitioner than we can prolly deal with them, no problem. If it's a witch than we might have trouble, depending on his power, and if it's a Wizard, than we're screwed."

Dean stopped his backward bend and looked at Sam. "Since when do Wizards hang out over here? I thought they were all stuck up Brits?"

"European," Sam corrected, "and they show up every once in a while, and usually cause trouble. Dad mentions them in his journal a few times, I think, but he never mentions a way to get rid of one."

"Deport them," Dean quipped with a shrug.

"Right," Sam huffed, "we'll just turn them into the FBI."

"Wanna go talk to the family?"

Sam looked back up at the bones in the treetops, still stretched out amongst the branches like a Halloween decoration. "I think we need to go talk to someone who might know more about this."

"Who? Bobby?"

"No," Sam shook his head, "I know someone who lives in the area. I think he's a Hunter. If he doesn't know anything about magic, than I bet he might have some insight into the victims that we don't get from the police reports."

"You _think_ he's a Hunter?"

"Pretty sure, yea."

Dean didn't look terribly happy about Sam's lack of one hundred percent sureness. "How do you know this maybe-Hunter?"

"We shared a dorm at Stanford for two years."

Dean didn't say anything to that, reluctant to bring up his younger brother's years at the university and the reason why Sam went there in the first place – not to mention the incident that brought him back to Hunting in September.

"Alright, let's go talk to the maybe-Hunter," Dean said, heading towards the yellow tape that circled the area. He paused at the tape, lifting it up and waiting for his taller brother to pass under it. "This guy have a name?"

"Harry. His name is Harry."

oooOoooOoooOooo

_3:30 pm, April 17, 2006_

_US Route 20, Eastern Iowa_

The gravel lot was deceptively empty, the only vehicle present a two-toned Volkswagon Rabbit that sat near the tavern's far corner. The building itself was a two-story thing with wood siding peeking through the peeling whitewash. A planked porch stretched across the front, covered with a tin roof and sporting a host of paint-peeled rocking chairs along its length. A green-painted sign was situated over the porch roofing that read _Andy's Rose Tavern _in faded gold lettering above a gilded rose icon. A flickering neon _open_ was in one of the windows.

Over all it looked like someone had fashioned it from some misplaced conception of a western tavern combined with an English pub.

"You sure this is the right place?" Dean asked, staring at the building from the road.

Sam shrugged and said, "its the address I was given."

Dean seemed to accept that and pulled their car off the narrow interstate road and into the parking lot. The gravel ground under the tires as he parked, and the two sat in the car for a minute, staring at the quiet building in front of them.

"Who's Andy?" Dean asked suddenly, turning his head to his brother.

"No idea," Sam gave him a quick, crooked smirk and got out of the car.

Dean scowled and followed him. "Yea, but I thought you knew the guy?"

"I do."

"So who's Andy?" Dean asked again, laying himself half over the roof of the car in order to point at his brother.

Sam shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling with the motion. "I don't know who Andy is. The guy's name is Harry, anyways. Maybe he just bought the place and didn't bother to change its name. I don't know."

"And he's supposed to know what sort of thing would magic bones up into treetops?"

"I'm pretty sure he's a Hunter," Sam said, "and if he is and lives here, he'd have at least heard about all this. He might be able to help us."

"Or did it."

"What? Dean, he's human."

"You sure he ain't some kinda witch or something?"

Sam scowled. "We lived in the same dorm for two years. I think I would've noticed."

Dean remained silent for a minute before gesturing vaguely towards the trunk. "So what do you think?"

Sam frowned. "I trust him, Dean."

"So? How long has it been?"

Sam's frown deepened and he headed towards the tavern door, not bothering to answer. Dean looked between his brother and the car trunk twice before jogging after him.

The inside of the building looked about what one would expect it to from the outside. The wood walls were faded and scarred, covered with the miscellany collection of knickknacks that were typical to such places. Bar tables were cluttered towards one end, seeming to have been pushed out of the way of the two pool tables that were in the corner, half nestled under the wide stairway that landed just to the side of the bar. The bar itself stretched across the back wall, a row of mirrors half hidden by a collection of imported liquor and beers. The early afternoon light streamed through some of the narrow windows, highlighting the dust in the air.

The place was empty.

"Creeeepy," Dean said out of the corner of his mouth, eyes roving from one corner to the other.

"It's the middle of the afternoon," Sam said, "its too early for any sort of bar crowd."

"Place is deserted," Dean mumbled, shuffling over the wooden floors and eyeing the stairwell, trying to catch a glimpse of where it led to.

"Hey, Dean!" Sam gestured his brother over to the window he was next to; a narrow, dirty-paned glass with a deep inset. Sam pointed to the sill, running his finger over it without actually touching. A thin, crusted line of white substance stretched straight from one corner to the other.

"Salt?" Dean asked, poking his finger into it. It was hard, in a crystallized sort of way, though a few grains of it rubbed off with the touch. Dean lifted his finger to his lips and tongued it, tasting the distinct flavor of salt. He studied the line, wondering how they got it to solidify like that.

"Reassure you any?" Sam asked, a note of wryness in his voice.

"Sammy, you know –"

"Good afternoon boys." The two whirled at the voice – a richly feminine tone with a thick British accent. The woman was perched at the bottom of the stairwell, a blue layered skirt still settling around her ankles. She had an aristocratic beauty and was perhaps just shy of middle-aged though only the grey streaking in her hair made her look that old. She looked quite harmless to the two over six-foot boys, as she had a small, narrow frame and a delicate look to her.

"You won't be needing that," she said, pointing towards Dean's hand. Dean didn't move his hand off the butt of his gun, though. Sam gave him a look and shook his head, to which Dean replied with a slight uplift of his shoulders and a not-quite-innocent look of his own. Sam moved his hand in a short, abortive gesture, trying to get his brother to let up a bit.

The woman moved further down the stairs in order to stand behind the bar, leaning slightly over on her elbows and folding her hands in front of her. "What can I do for you two?"

"We're looking for someone," Sam said, giving up on the silent argument with his brother and crossing half the bar before stopping.

"Oh? Do they have a name?" A hint of amusement laced through her voice.

"Harry."

The woman's face changed, a subtle shift of muscle and emotion that told both the boys that she recognized the name and was now guarded. "Harry is a common name, does he have a last name?"

Sam didn't answer at first, debating on giving the surname to her. Harry was his friend, and despite this being the address that _Harry_ gave him, Sam didn't want to put his friend in danger by giving out his name. However the woman, despite her strangeness and guarded look had a glint in her eyes that reminded Sam of his brother when he got into his over-protective moods.

"Yea, Black."

Sam nearly blinked as the woman's face changed again, less tense, though still cautious.

"And who are you, hun?" she asked, giving him a small smile.

"Sam."

"Samuel Winchester?" she asked, pushing up off the bar with her hands. She kept them where they could see them, and Sam suddenly realized that she was doing so on purpose.

Sam nodded to her question, glancing back at his brother, who hadn't moved from his position near the door, his hand still on his gun, though he didn't actually seem likely to draw it.

"Harry told me you might be coming by."

"He said that?" Sam asked, wondering how Harry would even know. Sam hadn't even been sure that the address would be up to date. Harry had given it to him over a year ago, and they hadn't been in contact at all since then.

"Some time ago." The woman gestured to the bar stools, smiling in a welcoming way that put Sam at ease. "He's out right now, but he ought to be back before the night's through, unless he gets himself into trouble." She ended with a disapproving scowl, and Sam chuckled, despite her avoiding his question. He knew well Harry's penchant for finding trouble. He could ask Harry himself why this woman seemed to have been somewhat expecting them.

Sam crossed the rest of the tavern, waving at his brother to follow him as he slid onto one of the stools across from the woman. Dean followed, seeming to have gotten over his mistrust of the place in the space of a heartbeat. He plopped himself down next to Sam and gave the woman a flirty grin.

"I'm Dean, this lug's older brother."

"Pleasure," she said, her voice nearly purring, but her eyes twinkling in amusement. Sam stared at the two, watching as his brother leaned on the bar crookedly and tried to charm a woman who was probably twice his age.

"I'm Andy," she said. "What can I get you while you wait, luv?"

oooOoooOoooOooo

_1:40 am, April 18, 2006_

_Andy's Rose Tavern, Eastern Iowa_

Harry coasted his bike over the gravel, letting the Triumph rumble lowly as he pulled up next to the tavern. The lot was sparse, it being a weekday and near to Andy's last-call time. Only two vehicles were left in the lot besides the Rabbit, a rusted pick-up and an American muscle car that Harry couldn't name. Harry parked his bike next to the Rabbit, and with the worn saddlebags thrown over his shoulder he headed into the tavern.

He paused just inside the door, taking in the four customers circling a pool table and Andy leaning over the bar with a bemused look on her aristocratic face. Harry eyed the customers, quickly figuring out that two were warring over a particularly close game, while the other two watched. The dark-haired, leather-jacket man appeared to be winning, his smirk a bit of a giveaway as to his feelings on the matter. His opponent was one of Andy's regulars, Jesse, a local farmer's son who came by a few times a week looking for someone to beat – whether at pool or with fists. He had brought one of his friends along, a bullying sort whose name Harry couldn't recall. His barrel-chest and thick arms usually intimidated, but the two newcomers didn't seem at all worried – though really, the two were tall and broad in their own right.

The game ended while Harry was still standing in the doorway, and Jesse threw the cue onto the table, anger evident in every line of his face and stance. Harry couldn't hear the words that were exchanged, but he could have easily guessed their content.

Jesse threw the first punch. It knocked the leather-wearing man back and nearly onto the floor, cradling his jaw. The returning kick to Jesse's knee toppled him and got Jesse's friend into the fray, which brought the taller newcomer into it as well.

Harry watched somewhat dispassionately as the four degenerated into a small brawl. He crossed the tavern to the bar, careful to skirt around the four in the process.

"Andy," he greeted, setting his saddlebags over the bar, and watching the four fighting through the mirrors behind her head, only half paying attention to them. "Is Jesse causing you trouble again?"

"Harry," she returned tightly. Harry raised an eyebrow at the woman, catching her displeasure easily. "I hope you had a fruitful trip, dear," she said, lips drawn taught, "and I know you must be tired, but if you don't stop them from ruining my tavern, you'll be sleeping out under the stars, so help me…"

Harry scowled, and turned around, taking in the fight with a closer eye. Jesse's friend was down, sort of, wavering as though he had been hit over the head. Harry wondered with what, cause he knew first hand how hard of a head he had. The leather-clad man was standing over him, one fist held in the other, his nose bloody and the back of his jacket covered with dust and dirt from the tavern's floor.

Harry turned to the other two, and started, suddenly recognizing the face of the tall newcomer facing off with Jesse. He hadn't seen Sam in over a year.

Harry crossed the space between him and the two circling each other with swift strides. Sidling between them just as they both threw fists, he caught Jesse's wrist and twisted, forcing the man down and away from the trajectory of his opponent's punch. Harry ducked under Sam's thrown fist, pushing Jesse down to the floor in the process, the man's arm twisted up and behind his back and still caught by Harry's hand. He felt his hair ruffle at Sam's passing throw, and cringed.

The taller Winchester stumbled slightly with the loss of his target, and stepped backwards, staring at him in surprise. Harry watched him, taking in the familiar face and wild hair – tamer than his own, but not by much. He wondered what Samuel Winchester was doing there. Dressed for travel, with faded jeans and a khaki jacket, Harry hadn't recognized him at first, used as he was to seeing Sam in tennis shoes and the occasional Stanford hoodie.

"Harry," Sam said, his expression mirroring Harry's own.

"Heya, Sam," Harry said, giving his friend a grin, "if you break something in here Andy'll have your hide."

Sam cringed and took another step back, looking slightly sheepish. He sent the woman in question an apologetic look. Andy simply smiled at him from her position behind the bar, a hint of dark promise in her eyes. She hadn't moved for some time, still leaning over the bar watching the show, both her amusement and irritation evident.

Harry glanced down at Jesse, the man's arm still in his grasp and twisted up behind the man's back.

"Jesse," Harry said, feeling the young man stiffen. "What the hell are you doing back in here?"

"What's it to you?" Jesse ground out, pushing against him. Harry tightened his grip and pulled his arm up further, making the man twist to try and compensate, but unable to do much still on his knees.

"Didn't I tell you that if you came in here and caused trouble again that I'd beat the living tar out of you?"

Jesse remained quiet, though Harry could practically feel the man's anger and resentment rolling off him in waves. Harry let him go and stood back, putting a couple steps between him and the large man. Jesse rose to his feet slowly, like a rising predator about to pounce. Sam, on the opposite side, took two steps back.

"Get out of here," Harry said coldly, jerking his head towards the door.

Jesse squared his shoulders and stared at Harry, the man's light brown eyes narrowed and angry. Jesse's feet shifted as he turned to face him, but Harry didn't move. Jesse lunged, his large frame moving sluggishly to Harry's usual swiftness. Harry drew one of his revolvers and had it pinned to the center of Jesse's forehead before the man quite realized what had happened. Jesse froze, his fist half cocked, his feet staggered apart and his eyes wide and cross-eyed as he stared at the four-inch barrel of the gun pressed harshly against his head.

Harry's face darkened and he thumbed the hammer, hearing the tell-tale click as he cocked it. Jesse's eyes widened further to the point of being comical.

"You're pissing me off," Harry told him. "This isn't some fight ring and I'm sick and bloody tired of beating the shite out of your slow hairy arse. Now get out of here before I decide that my life is better off with you buried six feet under my backyard, Shorne."

Jesse didn't move at first, frozen and obviously doubtful about the opportunity to leave the bar without a bullet in him. Harry didn't bother to reassure him any, and kept his gun digging into the thin flesh of his forehead.

Jesse moved slowly, pulling away from the gun and shifting towards the door, keeping everyone else in his field of vision. Harry lowered the gun just as slowly. Jesse and his friend left the bar without another word, though both shot the two newcomers dark looks – Harry was notably left out – before the door closed behind them.

Harry glanced down at his gun, and squeezed the trigger. The hammer slammed into place with a metal-on-metal sound and the cylinder spun, but was otherwise silent.

"It was empty?" Sam asked.

"He didn't know that," Harry said and slid the revolver back into the shoulder holster under his left arm.

"You always carry around an unloaded gun, Black?" Sam asked, amused.

"Only when I've recently emptied it into a bloke with sights on my neck," Harry shot back. "I'm out of ash wood rounds for the blasted thing; used up the last of my .22 caliber shots a couple days ago and haven't had a chance to restock yet." Harry scowled as Sam gave his companion a smug, I-told-you-so smirk. Lighter and shorter-haired, with green eyes, the leather-bound man was shorter than Sam's towering build, but just as broad, and looked rougher around the edges. _Longer on the road,_ Harry thought.

"Who's your friend?" Harry asked, interrupting their little staring contest.

"My older brother, Dean."

"Pleasure," Harry drawled, turning back to his friend. Sam looked tired, and worn, his hair shaggy and his eyes drawn. The t-shirt under his khaki jacket was a bit wrinkled, and dirt was scuffed into his jeans. "You look like you've been through shit, Sam."

Sam let out a ragged breath and Harry frowned.

"That's about accurate," Sam said.

Harry watched him for a minute, wondering what had happened to bring the guy down so hard. When he had left Stanford, Sam was happy, if faintly haunted (but Harry had been haunted as well, then), and dating a nice pretty girl who, though Harry didn't know well, had approved of.

"Want to tell me why you decided to look me up after a year, Sam?" Harry asked, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to meet Sam's eyes. The taller man wouldn't look straight at him. "You were pretty clear about what you thought I should do with our relationship, Winchester," Harry continued, his voice growing steadily harsher as he remembered his last summer at Stanford.

"You were digging, Harry."

"So were you," Harry said.

"Yeah," Sam said, running a hand through his hair and finally meeting Harry's eyes. Hazel met brilliant green and Harry settled back on his heals, unwilling to remain angry with Sam for something they were both guilty of. He didn't really blame the other man, they were living in the same dorm and both had nightmares and interesting habits that the other recognized as being the direct result of something akin to war – or survival of something horrid and dark. It wasn't hard to figure out that they were similar in ways that weren't comfortable for either of them. That they never actually _talked_ about anything even though both _knew_ that the other knew… no, Harry didn't blame Sam for his actions.

Harry sighed and gestured towards the bar. "What can I do for you, Sam?" he asked.

Sam didn't immediately respond, instead he lumbered over to the bar, grabbing and pulling his brother along with him. Harry trailed after the brothers, sliding into a seat one away from Sam, with Dean on the giant's other side. Andy wordlessly placed three beers in front of them before retreating. The three men remained silent, sipping their beers as the woman locked up the tavern and disappeared up the stairs. Harry watched her go, giving her a barely-there nod and reassuring smile when she looked back at him.

Once they were alone Harry turned back to the Winchester brothers expectantly. Sam and Dean exchanged a series of looks and gestures, a silent conversation that Harry could only guess at. Dean ended with a displeased huff, turning on the stool and leaning heavily into the bar, staring gloomily past his brother towards Harry. Harry raised an eyebrow as Sam turned as well, facing him. The oversized brother began with a doosey.

"What do you know of magic?" Sam asked.

Harry felt his face go blank, a reaction that he couldn't quite control. His reaction caused both brothers to stiffen and Harry forced himself to breathe again.

"I know a great deal about magic," Harry said, watching the two brothers carefully. "But what sort of magic are you talking about? There are many kinds."

Sam looked like he had just confirmed something that he had already suspected, and Harry wondered how much Sam thought he knew about him. He hadn't known, when he was at Stanford, what the Winchester family was, and Harry had assumed that Sam was a squib, or somehow connected to the Wizarding world. Harry knew better now. Sam wasn't connected to the Wizarding world. Sam Winchester was a Hunter, and Hunters were rather notorious for going after anything they thought was supernatural, including Wizards who drew too much attention to themselves. Harry wondered what Sam thought he was.

Sam pulled a manila folder from the back of his jacket and plopped it on the bar. Harry eyed it, recognizing the seal stamped on its cover as the Iowa state police. He slid the folder over the counter and flipped it open, pretty sure he knew what it would contain. There wasn't much going on in the area that would draw the attention of a couple top Hunters. He only glanced at the contents of the spread before sighing and closing it again. Sam frowned, and Harry bought time by downing the rest of his beer.

"You know about these?" Dean asked, the question more a demand for answers.

Harry nodded and got up, rounding the bar and digging through the coolers for another beer. When he failed to find something he was willing to drink, he resorted to the bottle of Jack Daniel's Whiskey. It wasn't as effective as most Wizard's brew, but Harry would accept it. He wasn't trying to get drunk anyways.

"They're in my neighborhood," Harry said as if were obvious, which it was, really. Any Hunter worth their salt wouldn't let something like a series of violent, unexplained murders in the state of his home base go unnoticed. Harry took a long swig of the liquor, eyeing the two brothers. "If I had any clue how to track the bastard responsible, I'd have gutted him already."

Dean looked about to shoot another question at him, so Harry spoke again before he could. Dean didn't look like the type to give Harry much time to explain anything. _A shoot first, ask later, type._

"They started about two months ago," Harry said, setting the bottle down, but not letting it go. He had a feeling he might want it soon. "Lone farmers or tourists or just anyone straggling along by themselves suddenly disappear. They're found a few days later. Or at least their bones are found. Cleaned and gleaming like a demented Halloween decoration, strung up above their own blood. None of their other body parts have yet been found. Anywhere. The police have kept such a tight lid on the condition of the bones that I didn't hear about the damned things until three weeks after they started."

"Do you know what's doing it?" Sam asked.

Harry looked at him, catching the wording and somewhat amused by it. "What, not who?"

Sam didn't respond and Dean's face darkened.

"It's no animal, that's for sure," Harry said, eyeing the older brother before turning his attention back to Sam. "At least not an animal by itself and it's not even a Lycanthrope, the moon cycle is all wrong. They started about a week apart, but they've been increasing lately, now down to twice a week."

"I figured that," Sam said.

Harry nodded. He pulled the police folder back over to him and flipped through it, searching through the images of the different crime scenes and scanning the reports quickly. He had already seen the police file, had a copy of it himself. "They still think it's a serial killer, huh?" Harry mumbled under his breath, thumbing through the thick folder. "How they expect to explain the blasted bones, I'll never know." He found what he was looking for and turned the photo for the brothers to see. It was a shot of muddy ground, dirt clumped around broken stems of spring grass and early flowers. A few splatters of blood stained the ground, but the point of interest was the print sunk into the soft mud. The ruled marker lined up next to it measured it to be nearly seven inches long.

"Some kind of animal print," Sam said, sliding the picture over to his brother. "What sight was that found at?"

"Thought you just said it wasn't an animal?" Dean said.

"A hog farm in Northern Iowa," Harry said, ignoring Dean's comment for now. "The third incident. That's the only decent print that's been found at any of the nine locations, but that's no wolf print."

"Looks like a bear," Dean commented.

"This far south?" Harry said, then shrugged "that's possible, but it's not a bear either, claws are too long."

"What do you think it is, then?"

"Not positive," Harry said, "but I think it might be a Warg."

Dean didn't seem to recognize the name, but Sam paled.

"But there were prints at only two locations," Sam said, pointing to the picture. "And a Warg couldn't put the bones up in a tree like that."

"No, but there are a few varieties of magic-users who could," Harry said, "and some of them might even have the power to control a Warg or two. For a while. As for the lack of prints, it doesn't take much to erase such evidence if one wants to do so, and the ground has been hard as a rock this spring. Not much rain yet."

"So what's this witch want with a bunch of organs?" Dean asked, "And why put the bones in a tree?"

"Actually not all of them are in trees," Harry said, sliding the folder over to the man. "They're just always up high, at least one story over the ground, often more so if there's anything to put them up on. One set was found stretched across the bottom of a water tower."

A flash of disgust crossed Dean's face as he flipped through the police folder, only partially looking at any of the contents. Harry got the impression that Sam was the one who did most of the research between the two.

"As for what this guy is after," Harry said, "I don't know."

"How many night bumps go after flesh and leave the bones behind, anyways?" Dean asked, still idly flipping through the folder.

"Any number of things might want various body parts for whatever reason," Sam said.

"I think the Warg is getting them."

"You're stuck on this Woorg thing, aren't you?" Dean waved at him with his empty beer bottle, and Harry snatched it out of the man's hand.

"Warg, and I'm almost positive that whoever is behind it is using the thing to hunt." Harry tossed the bottle in one of the bins under the bar and pulled two cold beers from the fridge, setting them in front of the brothers.

"What're you thinking, Harry?" Sam asked.

Harry eyed the two, letting another swig of liquor settle into his stomach while he debated how the two would take his theory. Being Hunters was one thing, but having a hefty knowledge of the dark side of Wizarding magic was a whole other level that most Hunters steered far clear of – if they were even aware of it. Many Hunters were somewhat aware of the magical world, insofar as witches and voodoo practices went, but few actually knew the differences between a demon-got witch, voodoo (or similar hocus-pocus sort of) practitioner and an actual Wizard. Harry didn't know how much the Winchesters knew, and he wished he did. Not for the first time Harry regretted not actually talking to Sam during their time at Stanford. Their mutual reluctance to dig into each other's lives caused the growing tension at Stanford, and Harry suspected that it might again, given the opportunity.

"There is a whole branch of magic and ritual that gains power off of another's death and pain," Harry finally said. "The more violent, painful and drawn out the death, the more power is got. Fear plays a big part in most of these things, too."

"Sounds demonic," Dean said.

"Could be," Harry conceded. "Or just evil."

"What sort of power could someone get from something like this?" Sam asked.

"Magic, some sort of specific skill or talent, life, youth." Harry shrugged. "Who knows? I haven't managed to find the specific ritual being used yet. Leaving the bones behind, or just blood, or using just the blood, or pinning bodies in high places or low... all of these mark dark wizarding rituals, but I haven't found a ritual with these specific set of markers. I'm beginning to wonder if the idiot made it up."

"Well, either way, this guy is going to strike again soon if his pattern is anything to go by," Dean said, snapping the folder shut and pushing it away from him. "And with his sporadic locations, we can't even guess at where that'll happen."

"Welcome to Iowa, boys," Harry said cheekily.

Sam made a swipe for his head, and despite a third of the bottle of Jack Daniel's in him, Harry's quick reflexes saved him from the thumping. Harry grinned.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Featured Character Bio:** Dean Winchester (AKA: assorted aliases)

Human, Male, born: January 24, 1979 (27 years old)

Hair/Eyes: short brown / green

Height/Weight: about 6'1" / well muscled and broad

Occupation: Hunter, Con-Artist

Skills: combat, hunting, driving, torturing, womanizing, mechanic

Weapons: a chromed Colt 1911 with ivory grips, a sawed off double barrel shotgun, a machete, a knife, tasers.

Location: a black '67 Impala somewhere in the U.S.


	25. Riddle Redux 02

**Summary:** **Summary:** War fuels desperation, protection ignites distraction, and in the ashes of misfortune hide new opportunity.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. This story is a fan fiction written purely for enjoyment purposes and is not meant to infringe upon any copyright, and is not used to make money in any way.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Riddle Me This**

By Renatus

02 The Noblesse Emblem

oooOoooOoooOooo

_August 1, 1981 – Apartment 8 at Barrow Block, Diagon Alley, London_

Riddle – the raven – had shown up in the early hours of the morning, gliding through a window that Harry had thrown open to help air out the dusty room. Harry had watched the bird warily as it settled itself on the back of his chair with a reproachful look in its eye. He wasn't sure he liked having it so near to him, but let the bird remain there anyways. Sirius watched the interaction in silence and suspicion.

By the time the sky began to grey Sirius fully believed what Harry told him about his origins and the little he revealed about the future. It had taken longer than Harry suspected that it would, but he didn't begrudge Sirius his cautiousness. Harry would have been the same.

Harry had been forced to delve into some of the few secrets that he knew about Sirius and the Marauders, which at least made Sirius pause long enough to listen to him. What really made Sirius begin to believe him however, was Harry's retelling of the day that Sirius' mother had finally threatened to throw her own son out of the house and how Sirius took her up on her offer, leaving Grimmauld Place and not returning. Sirius had told him about it, saying that he had told no one else, and that he couldn't imagine his mother repeating the tale through her pride. Harry knew that there were other explanations to how he knew the things he did, and that there was still plenty of doubt, but at least he had begun a relationship with the man and Sirius seemed inclined to want to believe him.

Harry told Sirius what had happened in his own timeline with Wormtail, and briefly mentioned the thirteen years that the other man had spent in Azkaban, which didn't make Sirius feel any better about the rat's treachery. Harry's succinct comments about Wormtail's later, painful death seemed to.

In the end, he figured that Teddy's presence probably helped the most. The nine-year-old looked so much like Remus that Harry caught Sirius staring at the boy on more than one occasion; not that Sirius didn't stare at him either. Harry knew that he looked a lot like his father, though much of his facial features were hidden behind the short growth of hair on his chin and face.

When Teddy began yawning, Harry ushered the boy to bed. He cleared one of the bedrooms down the hall of dust and cobwebs, and transfigured pajamas for the boy. Sirius carried the infant Harry with him and the two boys curled up on the large double bed with Teddy's arms wrapped around the infant protectively. Both were asleep in moments, with the two adults watching over them.

Riddle followed to perch on the headboard of the bed. He felt no real threat from the bird, despite his continued caution. Riddle was bound to him with strong, knotted magics. Despite Harry's own natural indifference to the bond he was quite relieved that Riddle was tied to him so tightly and Harry could read nothing inherently powerful within the bird. He did not know how much Riddle remembered, if he remembered anything at all, but the raven clearly did not hold Voldemort's once vastly impressive well of magic. The raven Riddle would not return to this timeline's Voldemort. The bond of the bird to him would prevent even the attempt if not the thought entirely. The Ligo per Manùs spell was such a tightly woven compulsion as to border a sort of slavery.

Harry knew that he and Sirius still had much to discuss. Sirius seemed to trust him and believe his story, but Harry knew that it would take time for Sirius to truly trust him. And to gain that time Harry would have to develop an identity for himself. As of now, neither he nor Teddy legally existed.

Harry had a few ideas already forming in his head. Over the years he had developed a small collection of aliases that had served him quite well until he did something foolish that gave away his identity as the Boy-Who-Lived. He was sure that any of them would work well enough and he wouldn't have to create a new identity from scratch. The hardest part would be to integrate the alias into this timeline in a believable manner. Harry's identity would have to be solid, which would require some work on his part to form the necessary contacts, documentation and history that would serve him as a base.

"Who is he?" Sirius asked softly.

"Teddy?" Harry asked.

"He called you papa," Sirius said, glancing at him before returning his gaze to the children.

"He was four the first time he said it," Harry said with a small smile, remembering the day clearly. "But he isn't my blood son."

Sirius looked at him questioningly. Harry smiled.

"He's my godson."

"Who are his parents?"

"Were," Harry said, looking at the tawny-haired boy. "Remus was his father. He died only a few months after Teddy was born."

"Remus?"

Harry looked over at his godfather, taking in the stunned look on the man's face with amusement. Sirius looked somewhat gobsmacked, an expression Harry wasn't used to seeing on him.

"Yea, Remus Lupin," Harry said, "His name is Thaddeus Ranulf Lupin, though we've pretty much only ever called him Teddy."

"Moony had a little cub," Sirius said with a small smirk, "How sweet."

Harry raised an eyebrow, amused. "As I recall he was quite stunned himself."

"Who was his mother, then?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer before closing it again and shaking his head. "I would rather not say, yet. It wasn't until I was out of Hogwarts that they started even dating. I would rather the two of them figure it out on their own without any hints or prompts from you or me. Besides, I'm pretty sure they haven't met yet, and likely won't for a decade or two."

Sirius seemed like he wanted to protest, but didn't voice it. Instead he focused on another issue, "Were you married?"

Harry nearly choked. "No!"

"No? Really? How old are you and you didn't get married?" Sirius said with amusement.

"I'm twenty-seven," Harry said a bit defensively. "And I never had the time. We were in the middle of a war."

Sirius sobered immediately, eyeing him with a look that Harry couldn't identify. Harry sighed. He had grown accustomed to his lifestyle within the Order, they all had, and it was distinctly strange to be talking to someone who was not a part of that life. Harry could see Sirius's grudging acceptance of the conflict, but the idea of a full-fledged war was a whole new level. The skirmishes between Voldemort and the Order had not escalated to a war until after Harry's graduation from Hogwarts. The first 'war', in which James and Lily died at the end, was more of a series of schoolyard tussles and restrained duels in comparison. Voldemort's first rise was marked by his use of fear from the shadows. His second rise was far more bold and sadistic.

"Perhaps we should return to the living room," Harry said looking back to the two boys curled up on the bed. "I'm sure we've much to discuss, and I'll need your help to make my new identity a reality with the Ministry."

The two returned to the living room, leaving Riddle perched on the bed. Harry didn't bother to remove the sheets on the furniture, and lowered himself into a chair near the fireplace, stretching his legs in front of him. Sirius watched him, no doubt noticing the way he favored his right leg. Harry didn't have his usual cane with him, he didn't use it while dueling. The metal brace encasing the length of his leg supported his weight well enough, if still painfully, that he could move without a cane. It and his wand where two of the few items he had not been able to bring with him, if for the simple reason that he wasn't holding either of them when the magic activated.

"So," Sirius said, "What's this about your identity?"

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry and Sirius spoke for a few hours, debating on plans for Harry's integration into the timeline. Sirius had a better working knowledge of the Ministry's internal practices, which proved invaluable. Harry could forge documentation for his identity well enough, he had done so before, but he had never had to place believable copies within the British Ministry before. In his original timeline the Ministry had fallen shortly after Harry's return to Britain, so there was no one to double check Harry's claims with.

Harry settled on his oldest alias in the end, though it wasn't a hard decision to make. His first alias was the only one that was grounded in any sort of reality. Of course that reality was twenty years in the future, but Harry was sure he wouldn't have too much trouble with it. The challenge would come up if his old master ever caught wind of him and came calling, wondering why some bloke in Britain had claimed to be his relation.

Harry had spent three years living in central Siberia, one of Russia's three Magical nations, while he studied for his Martial Magics Mastery under a man he had only known as Tchernov. Harry had been told that the Master-Adept was one of the best martial Warlocks in existence, and Harry spent six months just trying to find the man. Tchernov was notoriously difficult to locate, and carted around under more aliases than Harry ever thought sane. But Tchernov had reason to hide his family origins, which Harry learned long into his apprenticeship under the man.

Once Tchernov allowed Harry to become his Apprentice, Harry hadn't left Siberia until he received his own mastery title. Harry left the cold land with the notoriously difficult to achieve Siberian Martial Magics Mastership when he was only twenty-one, the youngest person to be granted the title of Warlock in over five centuries. Harry had only seen his master periodically since, distracted as he was by the war. Tchernov had agreed to teach him, but not help him fight. Harry hadn't begrudged the old man his decision, simply being grateful for the tutelage.

During his time in Siberia, however, Tchernov insisted that he live under an alias, and had put the citizenship documents in through the Siberian Magical government, making Harry officially someone else. Harry had used the alias through nearly the entirety of the war; until a young Order member let slip that Harry occasionally degenerated into Russian when angered, which made his alias rather obvious.

Now Harry was going to reclaim that alias as his once again.

Luckily for him, he had made it a habit to carry most of his more valuable belongings with him, each tucked into the half a dozen magically enhanced pockets hidden in his robes. Interestingly, after nearly a decade of war Harry's sense of value in items had been tainted a bit. Most of the objects in his pockets were medical supplies, a host of potions and a miscellany of artifacts and contraptions that aided him in his various missions. Harry did, however, still carry his citizenship documents and Mastership papers, if simply because he had never bothered to take them out.

Harry searched through his pockets and spread out all the documents he had on him on the desk in the den. Harry figured that with a few hours of cleaning, the dust and sheets removed and the candles replaced, the room would have a comforting sort of atmosphere to it. As it was now, it simply felt old and cold and unused. Though Harry particularly liked the selection of portraits along one of the walls of various old Potter family members. They watched him silently, with only the occasional grunt or muffled yawn, clearly not very interested in the strange man now inhabiting their home.

He had his documents spread across the large desk in front of him. His Siberian Mastership papers were the focus of his attention as he carefully altered the dates listed throughout the document. It would be suspicious if he used the papers when they held a date two decades in the future.

Sirius followed him a moment later into the den. Harry glanced up at him before returning his attention to the parchment laid out in front of him. Sirius rounded the desk to look over his shoulder. Riddle shifted on the back of his chair, and Sirius eyed the bird warily.

"You sure he's not evil or something?" Sirius asked.

"Evil?" Harry said, "No. An arrogant condescending creature? Most definitely."

Sirius chuckled, though stayed a good arms span away from the raven.

"Siberia?" Sirius asked. Harry paused in his perusal of the document and looked up at the man.

"Tchernov favored the isolation that Russia-Siberia offered him. That is where I trained."

"Tchernov? Never heard of him."

"I would be surprised if you had heard his name, at this time."

"He was your master?"

"For three years," Harry said.

"Who is he?"

"Tchernov is a Warlock," Harry said. There would be time enough later to reveal exactly who Tchernov really was.

"A true Warlock?" Sirius asked, "Titled and everything?"

"And everything."

"Wait, are you titled and everything?"

Harry smirked, and pointed to the Noblesse Emblem emblazoned on the bottom of all his documents. It marked the documents as Noble; the person therein Titled and a part of the greater Court, if not the Peerage. It was an old system, Harry knew, the Court. It had for the most gone out of favor amongst the Muggles a hundred year ago, but the Wizarding world was often stuck in the middle ages and that meant that the Peerage was still around, though not as powerful as it once was. Ranks, titles and honors were still in effect and passed down complete with a limited amount of power, duty and responsibility if not the land-based fiefdoms. Harry had always thought it amusing that the Muggles had a Queen without an active court while the Wizards had a court without a Queen, or royalty at all, for that matter.

Harry's title of Warlock was much like the Muggle title of Knight. It wasn't hereditary and it wasn't given lightly, bestowed only on those worthy of it for various reasons. But a Warlock title was also much like the Muggle doctorate. It had to be earned, and it denoted a certain level of magical knowledge, though not any specific _field_ of knowledge. It could only be given by another Warlock, and Warlocks were a rare breed worldwide. His Warlock title made him a part of the Wizarding court inasmuch as a medieval Knight was one. He was welcome amongst them, addressed as Sir and lauded, but he was really more of a servant with specialized skills, albeit skills that were highly dangerous and made him quite powerful.

"I was given the title Warlock when I was twenty-one," Harry said.

Sirius whistled in appreciation, and Harry shook his head in bemusement, looking back over the spread of parchments on the desk. His own papers were interspersed with the forged documents for Teddy, who was named as Harry's adopted Godson, which was the truth anyways. The only difference he made for Teddy's papers was the boy's birth year and last name; changing it from Lupin to Ludolf.

"So, say that full name for me," Sirius said, staring at Harry's Russian-based name on the paper. Harry snorted in amusement but complied, pulling out the Russian accent that he had acquired during his time in Siberia.

"Hardrik Lyovsky Tchernov," Harry said, feeling the name roll through his mouth thickly.

Sirius stared at him a moment, blinking more than was normal. "Right."

Harry sighed. "Hardy will suit."

"Hardy?"

"A common nickname I was called by," Harry said. "I'm used to it, and it will suit me fine."

Hardy. He had been called such more for his penchant for survival than because it was a short form of his Russian name, Hardrik. Harry's friends had begun calling him Hardy before they even left Hogwarts. It made it easier for him to transition into the Russian name his teacher gave to him. It was very similar.

"So you're this guy from now on, then?" Sirius asked. Harry nodded.

"Yes, so you'll have to start calling me by this name," Harry said, tapping the parchment in front of him, "And myself as well. I'll need to get used to it again. It'll generally be better that I just drop my name as Harry Potter completely and become Hardrik Tchernov."

"I like Hardy better. Or Harry. What's wrong with Harry?"

Harry looked at his godfather blankly for a moment before blinking slowly, once. "Fine. Hardy Tchernov, then. And his name is Harry," Harry said, pointing down the hall to the room where the two boys slept. "Would you prefer to change his name?"

"It'd be a might bit strange to have two Harry Potters running around," Sirius agreed, then made a face. "It's already strange."

Harry simply looked back at his godfather. The man had given him an idea that Harry hadn't thought of himself. He didn't mind going by a pseudonym as he was well used to it, however, giving the infant Harry Potter another name to grow up under could protect the boy. Besides wand-happy Death Eaters looking for revenge, Harry was equally worried about the general population. The legend of the Boy-Who-Lived would grow to epic proportions by the time it would be ready for the boy's first year at Hogwarts. Harry distinctly remembered the first time he stepped foot into the Leaky Cauldron and the mob that had descended upon him.

"It'll keep him safe," Harry said slowly, "To call him something other than Harry Potter." He raised a hand to forestall whatever Sirius was about to say. "I would not keep from him who he is, nor raise him away from the Wizarding world, but being Harry Potter, survivor of Voldemort will be dangerous." _Far more than I am willing to say,_ Harry thought.

Harry couldn't read Sirius's face well. The man's expression kept changing subtly, but there was a determination in the man's eyes that was easy to read.

"James," Sirius said, an odd choked sound to his voice. "Call him James."

"James Potter?"

Sirius caught the note of disbelief in his voice and threw up his hands, spinning and pacing halfway across the den before turning back to him. "What do you suggest? It's his name! He's James's son! James…"

Sirius's legs buckled beneath him and he hit the floor hard. Harry watched his godfather fold himself over his knees, fist buried into the rug and head bent low to his chest. He saw the barely restrained sobs more than he heard them. His godfather's body shook with them.

Harry had lost much in his life, and had seen others lose as much. He had been in Sirius's place more times than he cared to count but it was somewhat rare for him to be in the sole position of witness.

He crossed the room silently, and rested one hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing hard, pressing part of his weight onto the bent form of his godfather. He knew that no words could console, no sounds would take away the pain of the loss. But his weight, pressing onto Sirius's shoulder, was a stark reminder to the man that he was not alone.

Harry knew, having been in Sirius's place before, it was comfort enough.

Sirius pulled himself together after some time. Harry kept his silence, returning his attention to the papers strewn across the desk while his godfather disappeared down the hallway. Harry had Teddy's documents completed – Theodore Peers Ludolf – by the time Sirius returned to the den.

He didn't look like he had recently broken down, but the man was somewhat more subdued, looking tired. Harry saw something of what he remembered his godfather to be, after Azkaban, but it was a sliver of the damage that the prison had done.

"Give him the Black name," Sirius said, leaning over the desk.

Harry blinked up at him, surprised at the suggestion. "You want to name him a Black?"

"It'll hide that he's a Potter, right? It'll keep him safer. I'll name him as my heir. That'll give him the Black name."

"And stick it to your mother, I'm sure," Harry said, amused despite the topic.

Sirius gave him a wolfish grin. "More the reason to do it, then, I say."

Harry snorted. "It might work. Most are foolish enough to get distracted by the Black name."

"One of the best places to hide is in plain sight."

"Alright," Harry nodded. "Harry James Potter Black. We'll call him James Black. It'll hide him well enough. Wizards are remarkably dense when it comes to the obvious."

"And you can keep your name, Harry," Sirius said.

Harry stared at his godfather, more thankful to the man than he expected. He had always wanted to be 'just Harry,' and while that wish had faded as the war continued, getting the chance to leave some of his unwanted reputation behind was a wonderful freedom. He had tasted that freedom before, having spent time under aliases on more than one occasion. As Hardrik Tchernov, he'd be taking up that chance once again. He could _make_ what reputation he wanted. He could _be_ just Harry.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Just before dawn Sirius noticed how Harry was favoring his ribs. The pains of his battle prior to the time travel had built steadily through the night and morning, demanding attention.

"You're injured," Sirius said suddenly. Harry blinked and looked up at him, not expecting the statement.

"Not badly," Harry said, truthfully. He had stopped any serious damage while still in Godric's Hollow, leaving the rest of his wounds to deal with after he ensured Sirius and the infant Harry were safe.

"You're bleeding," Sirius said, crossing the room to him.

Harry was a bit stunned at the man's sudden concern. Still shocked at his godfather's presence, Harry let him pull him to his feet and discard his robes. Finally acting for himself, Harry pushed Sirius's hands away and stripped his jumper and t-shirt on his own. He heard Sirius gasp before he even set his shirts down.

"What happened?" Sirius asked, poking at his side. Harry sucked in a breath at his touch, pain rippling across his ribs and chest. Looking down at the wound, he finally got a good look at it. A deep gash ran across his ribs from his sternum to a point beneath his right arm. It looked partially healed, likely the result of his half-arsed healing spells, but the wound was seeping blood, trailing down his torso like thick honey.

"The Lestrange brothers," Harry said thoughtfully, inspecting the half-healed wound carefully. "Rabastan, I think, did this one."

"Both of them?"

Harry nodded, poking at the wound much in same way that Sirius had done.

"What are those?" Sirius asked, pointing to the line of runes etched into his skin. Harry ran a hand over a couple. They started at his collar and lined down his chest to taper off just below his navel. Circling his collar over his shoulders there was also two parallel lines down the outside of his spine, the outside of his legs and down the length of his arms. The runes were etched as if they had been cut into his skin by a blade, raised like pale scars that barely stood out from his white skin.

"Runes," Harry said simply.

"I've never seen anything like that."

"They aren't common," Harry said. "They are a form of ritual mark, of a sorts."

Sirius looked at him blankly, leaving him to wonder what the other man was thinking.

"What sort of ritual?"

"Nothing dark or sinister, I assure you," Harry said with a vague sense of amusement. "The only blood used in their creation was my own."

"What do they do?"

Harry inspected the other surface wounds scattered across his torso and arms. He could also feel, now that he paid more attention, that there where more on his back and likely a puncture wound in his right thigh if the sharp, throbbing was any indication.

"They heal," Harry said, glancing up at the man with a small smile. Harry pulled a small silver blade from the sheath hidden along the small of his back in his jeans. The blade had no handle, and was sharp only towards its point. It was specifically designed for these sorts of runes, and more specifically for his body.

Sirius took a step away from him, but Harry ignored his caution, turning the narrow blade towards the runes on his chest. Harry cut into the rune marks, tracing one that rested in the center of his sternum, he then moved the blade down to his stomach and repeated it, cutting open the rune just over his navel. He repeated this twice more to runes on each of his forearms. As he completed the fourth rune they began to glow a faint silvery green. As Harry watched the soft glow began to spread across the line of runes, casting a light over his body. The runes burned brighter nearer to his wounds, and the light seemed to spread to cover the entirety of the gash running around his torso.

Nodding in satisfaction Harry sheathed his knife and looked back up at Sirius. Sirius was staring in fascination at the runes, his face lit by the glow of them. He reached out slowly, staring at Harry's arm, before running his fingertips lightly down the inside of his forearm. A whisper of a song echoed in his ears, soothing and sleepy. Harry watched the touch, suddenly realizing why his arm drew the other man's attention. Emblazoned on the flesh of his inner arm was the golden mark of a Phoenix, curled around itself as if nesting, its color lit by the runes in a silvery light.

"The Order's mark," Sirius whispered, his hand falling away. Harry mentally kicked himself. He had fully forgotten about the mark on his arm. The Phoenix's Mark would have served him well in helping Sirius to trust him, and he hadn't even thought about it. Then again, his other Mark was far less reassuring and if seen would only cause a great amount of mistrust, explanation or not. Harry wasn't ready to let Sirius see Voldemort's mark on him. Not yet.

"With the magic activated for healing, I'll need to sleep soon," Harry said, pulling his robes back over his shoulders and leaving his bloody shirts on the floor. The robes would hide the skull and snake on his back until he could rig up a concealing charm. "The worst of the injuries will be healed by the time I wake up."

"Handy that," Sirius said a bit distractedly, still eyeing the line of runes down Harry's chest that could be seen through the robes.

"Saved my life an awful lot," Harry said. "Especially when Healers were scarce."

Sirius watched him as Harry returned to his seat, using his arms to lower his body into the chair. His leg throbbed in complaint from the overuse. His healing runes would help take the worst of the pain away, but he'd be sore for days still. It always pained him more after a battle on foot. Harry had on occasion taken his battles to the air by various means because of it. It saved him the throbbing pain of his leg afterwards, and had the added benefit of throwing most of his opponents off. Few Wizards had the instincts to guard themselves from attacks that came from below, even while in the air.

"I should go talk to Dumbledore," Sirius said.

Harry nodded but didn't say anything.

"Nobody knew Peter was the secret keeper," Sirius said quietly.

"You may be arrested," Harry said. "Go straight to Dumbledore, he'll listen to you. Tell him about me if you like."

Sirius looked at him for a while, and Harry remained quiet, letting the man decide his own course of action. Sirius was an Auror, a good one, and for all his impulsiveness Harry figured the man was calmed down enough not to do anything too rash right away.

"Dumbledore, then," Sirius said with a nod. "I'll go the Order Headquarters, if he isn't there he'll at least be alerted to my arrival there."

Harry nodded, recalling how the Phoenix Mark system didn't include a communication charm until the second rise. It had been proved to be an invaluable addition. Harry would have to talk to Dumbledore about adding the charm sooner.

Harry watched as Sirius disappeared down the hall to the bedroom. A moment later he returned and looked at him for a moment, something in his face making Harry take notice of him.

"I'll Trust my Godson to your care, then," Sirius said and left the flat through the apparation point in the corner of the living room before Harry could bring himself to react. The runes' healing magics were making him sluggish already. Harry felt the widening of his own eyes, recognizing the subtle shift of magic that was Sirius's Trust. It was the feel of one magical guardian including another in his responsibility and trust over a child. He had felt the same shift when he took shared guardianship over Hermione's only daughter, after her husband's death. He had also felt it when Remus had died and left him as the only guardian to Teddy.

Sirius had trusted him enough to name him as a shared magical guardian over Harry Potter.

Harry blinked, beginning to feel the signs of his own fatigue. His magic had been activated to help his body heal and he needed to sleep to complete the healing. His body and magic was now calling for him to do so. Harry stretched out on the couch, trusting the wards of the flat and knowing that Teddy would wake him if either of the boys needed him. He drifted to sleep with his magic glowing through the runes across his skin, slowly healing the wounds he had collected in his latest spat with a Dark Lord and his followers.

oooOoooOoooOooo

_August 2, 1981 – Apartment 8 at Barrow Block, Diagon Alley, London_

Harry woke to muffled sounds of glassware and childish giggling. Looking to the clock on the mantle he found that the dawn had passed and it was now nearly eight in the morning. Knowing that the mere few hours since dawn wouldn't have been enough for his runes to heal the extent of his injuries, he must have slept through the entire day and following night. Harry groaned as he stood, stretching his muscles carefully after the healing. Feeling stiff but not overly sore past the usual dull pain in his leg, he made his way into the kitchen to see what all the racket was about.

Harry stopped in the doorway to stare at the scene in front of him. The fifteen-month-old Harry – James – sat in the middle of the floor wearing nothing but a cloth nappie that looked suspiciously like it had once been a pillowcase. A large bowl of sticky porridge sat between his legs and the child was using the soup spoon clutched in one hand to alternately feed himself and send the food flying about the kitchen. Every time the porridge hit with a flat wet splat he would curl in on himself with deep, uncontrollable giggles. Harry was positive that there was more porridge splattered across the cupboards and walls than had made it inside the boy's stomach. Teddy was seated at the table and ducking the ammunition while laughing along with the infant, with a mostly empty bowl in front of him. Harry figured Teddy had either eaten his own breakfast or helped the infant redecorate the kitchen. From the amount of oatmeal about Harry suspected the latter.

"Good morning," Harry said wryly, keeping a wary eye on the giggling, porridge-flinging infant.

"Morning papa!" Teddy greeted, looking a bit sheepish.

"Any trouble while I was sleeping?"

Teddy shook his head. "No. I saw that your runes were glowing so I let you sleep. I found oatmeal in a stay-fresh box and some of that weird muggle milk."

"The heat treated stuff?" Harry asked, familiar with Teddy's opinions on the boxed, Muggle milk.

"Yea," Teddy said, pointing to one of the cupboards. "There isn't anything else, really."

"You've eaten oatmeal for the past two days?" Harry asked.

"Didn't get up till noon yesterday. Porridge for lunch, for second lunch, for dinner and for breakfast today. Though he actually ate it yesterday," Teddy said as the infant flung another glop of sticky porridge at the wall.

Harry watched the infant for a bit, amused at the child's gleeful antics. He wasn't entirely surprised that Teddy didn't wake him earlier. Teddy had helped with the care of the few younger children at the Order Headquarters. While only nine himself, Teddy did know how to keep an eye on those younger than him and the women of the Order had taught the boy basic baby care. Harry still would never leave Teddy to babysit an infant alone but Teddy was perfectly capable of keeping an eye on another child for a while, especially with an adult there if needed. Harry's magic may have demanded that he sleep, but it didn't mean he wasn't capable of being woken. Teddy knew how to do so if he had needed to.

"You didn't happen to find any tea, did you?" Harry asked. Teddy nodded, pointing his spoon at one of the cupboards. Harry found the tea and after a moment of searching located a mug. He waved his hand absently, cleaning porridge from the various surfaces of the kitchen with a mumbled "Scourgify," while he made tea. He would have to go to a market for food and supplies soon.

Harry dodged a wildly flung glop of porridge, banishing it with a wave of his hand before it struck anything. The infant stared at the unexpected disappearance before flinging his arms up with a delighted cry. Harry raised an amused eyebrow at the child as he sat at the table with his tea.

"He's happy," Harry commented wryly, keeping an eye on the boy.

"I'm running out of games," Teddy said. "There aren't any kid's things around here."

"Charlus Potter never had children," Harry said.

"Well, he likes Riddle."

Harry raised a questioning eyebrow at his Godson, suddenly noticing that the bird wasn't in the kitchen with the boys.

"Especially his tail feathers," Teddy said with a smirk.

Harry laughed, imagining the scene.

"Are we staying here?" Teddy asked, not quite looking at him.

"Would you like to?"

Teddy shrugged, "I don't care I guess."

"We're pretty stuck in this timeline," Harry said, watching the boy's reactions, "So we'll have to integrate ourselves into the world. This flat could work, but it may be a bit strange to have us living in an old Potter property. But then, perhaps not."

Teddy was silent for a while, poking at his oatmeal in thought while Harry nursed his tea and continued to banish the oatmeal the infant on the floor kept flinging about.

"Will we be under Fidelius again?" Teddy asked.

Harry looked up at the boy, hearing the resignation in his voice. Teddy's life had been lived behind the wards of the Order, allowing only very limited access outside of the Headquarters. Not for the first time, Harry cursed Voldemort for the lifestyle so many of them were forced to adapt to. It was hardest for their children.

"No," Harry said, "I don't think we'll put the flat under the Fidelius charm." Teddy looked up at him hopefully, cementing Harry's decision not to hide them. "But we'll have to be careful, and not speak about the possible future or our time-travel."

Teddy nodded, looking ready to agree to just about anything in order not to have to live in secrecy. Harry held in a sigh. He hoped that Teddy would be able to adjust to a life outside of the Order. He was young and adaptable, but it would be difficult for the boy.

"What about our names?" Teddy asked. "Won't people think it odd?"

Harry nodded, appreciating the boy's quick acceptance of their situation and his smart thinking.

"We'll use an alias," Harry said.

"A different identity, right?"

"Yes, a different name, history and everything."

"And act like someone else," Teddy said, nodding.

"Yes, but I don't think we'll have to do too much of that. No one knows us already, so all we need are names and a history that we can tell people. We don't have to act much different at all."

Teddy nodded a bit excitedly, his hair shifting color slightly. No doubt he had cottoned on to the various aliases that Harry and many of the Order members used on occasion. Most of their aliases also came with glamours, or on the rare occasions Polyjuice, to change facial features. Harry had mastered a handful of glamour charms over the years because of his own alter egos. Of course his aliases wouldn't have the same effectiveness now, as his networks and social connections through his aliases were what made them so useful. He would have to consider re-establishing some of those connections. With a likely ten year wait before Voldemort showed up again, Harry would have plenty of time to set up a few strong networks.

"So we won't have to do it all over again, right?"

"Exactly," Harry said. "But it might be difficult."

Teddy smiled and sat up straight in his chair, throwing his shoulders back proudly. "We can do it."

"Yes, I think we might be able to," Harry said with a chuckle. "Where is Sirius, anyways? Is he sleeping?"

Teddy shook his head, "He's not here. I haven't seen him."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. Teddy nodded.

Harry didn't say anything, feeling his mind race at Sirius's prolonged absence. He feared that the man never made it to Dumbledore, or worse, went after Wormtail alone. Harry feared that his history was struggling to repeat itself.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Harry wasn't sure how long he wanted to wait for Sirius to return. The man's continued absence caused a rising foreboding in his gut. Harry passed the morning with the boys, enjoying the hours he was able to spend with his godson and helping Teddy memorize the aliases they would use, the names they would now take as their own. Between the two of them they managed to get the infant Harry – "No papa, it's James now remember." – bathed, dressed and clear of the porridge shower the child had caused. Harry spent some time conjuring a miscellany of child's toys. The conjured items wouldn't last more then a few days as Harry had never bothered to master Conjuring, but they would do well enough until they were replaced with more permanent things.

By evening Harry was done waiting. Rather than find an owl to carry a letter or try to fire-call Albus when he didn't know where the old man was, Harry simply sent off a patronus messenger with a half-cryptic message about who he was and if the man had seen Sirius. Twenty minutes later a ghostly Phoenix returned, which surprised him. Harry had learned that he could send his messengers over a great deal of distance, far more than anyone else he knew who used the spell. He didn't know what Albus's limit was, the man had died before he had to really test it, but he still hadn't expected to get a patronus messenger as a response. Albus was likely closer to London than Hogwarts, though Harry couldn't be sure. The patronus glided through the window of the living room, drawing the attention of the two boys and causing Riddle to caw in irritation. The phoenix landed on his knee, inclined its head, and Harry heard Dumbledore's voice echo out of it.

"He was here. I know where you are. I'm bringing a friend."

The phoenix dissipated and Harry blinked at the spot it had been. He didn't like the sound of Dumbledore's voice. It had started slightly ominous, subtly so, yet distinct to Harry's ear, and ended on a slightly jovial note when mentioning his friend. Something had happened.

"Was that Albus Dumbledore?" Teddy asked. Harry nodded and got to his feet, using a conjured cane to help balance himself against his bad leg. A knock sounded on the door and Harry resisted the urge to hex the man. Albus had not graced him with much of a warning. He had been a lot closer than Hogwarts, though Harry was betting that his own patronus had made the full journey. Albus had simply sent his along when he got to the Alley and the apartment. Harry pulled Lily's wand from a pocket and made his way to the door. If Dumbledore was bringing a friend then he was pretty sure that he would be able to judge the man's intentions by his friend's identity.

"Mr. Tchernov?" Dumbledore's voice came from the other side of the door. Harry crossed the living room, knowing that it was Dumbledore. No one but Sirius knew that name in this time.

Harry opened the door with the wand still in his hand. Dumbledore stood in the hallway, looking so much younger than he expected him to be. He hadn't realized how much the man had visibly aged during the second war.

On his shoulder sat Fawkes.

Harry stared at the two for a minute, quite surprised to see the phoenix. He had expected McGonagoll or Moody or in some bat of looniness from Albus, Snape.

"Harry Tchernov?" Albus asked.

"Professor," Harry greeted, slipping the wand back within the confines of his robes, "Please come in."

"Thank you," Dumbledore said as Harry stood aside for him to walk into the flat. Harry closed the door behind them and watched as Albus took in the flat. Half of the furniture was still covered and dust was layered in the corners where he hadn't bothered to throw cleaning spells yet. It was quite clear that the flat was only very recently inhabited after a long absence. The infant Harry was seated in the middle of the rug before the unlit fireplace, a host of large puzzle pieces spread around and under him. Teddy sat nearby, actually putting the puzzle slowly together and trying to keep the infant from chewing on the pieces.

"My name is Hardrik Lyovsky Tchernov," Harry said, offering his left hand to the man.

Dumbledore smiled and clasped his arm in a Wizard's hold, rather than a Muggle handshake. Harry was sure that the other man could feel the wand he had strapped to his left forearm, just as he could feel Albus's wand beneath his palm.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," the elder said, listing off his many names in a gentle role of sound. Harry nodded, letting go of the grip he had on the other's arm and gestured towards the boys on the floor.

"My Godson, Teddy Ludolf," Harry introduced, "Teddy, this is Professor Albus Dumbledore and his phoenix, Fawkes."

"Hello," Teddy said, watching the stranger cross the living room. The older Wizard had died before Teddy was old enough to remember him, though he no doubt knew the man's name and reputation. Harry had spoken of him often enough. Everyone in the Order spoke of Albus.

"The bottomless pit, there, is Harry Potter," Harry said, eyeing the infant as the boy tried to fit one of the large puzzle pieces in his mouth.

"Indeed," Albus said with a chuckle. He kneeled in front of the infant, pulling the puzzle piece out of the boy's mouth gently. Harry watched as the man seemed to inspect the child, finishing his perusal by running his hands through the boy's hair, revealing the unblemished skin of his forehead. Infant-Harry watched Dumbledore throughout, going a bit cross-eyed as the front of his head was touched. The infant suddenly reached out, tangled his small hands in the long beard and flung his arms out wide, pulling the neatly groomed beard into a wild mess. Dumbledore gave a surprised sound and tried to save his beard from the giggling child. Teddy laughed at the sight and Harry thought that it wasn't every day that one saw Albus Dumbledore in such an undignified situation.

"Ah, I will need that back, dear boy," Albus said to the infant as he tried to disentangle the boy's hands. "It is good to see you laughing, little Harry." Albus finally gave up on reclaiming his beard and simply picked the boy up and took a spot on the couch.

"We're going to call him Jamie," Teddy piped up.

"Jamie?" Albus looked questioningly over at Harry, his eyes far more intense than the sound of his voice.

Harry crossed the room, his cane thumping lightly on the floor and sat in one of the wingback chairs. Fawkes flew over to him and sat on the arm of the chair, crooning at him. Harry pet the bird absently.

"I will not hide from him who he is," Harry said, meeting Albus's eyes. "But calling him by the Potter name is just asking for unwanted and unsafe attention. Sirius named him heir to the Black name. We'll call the boy James Black."

Albus nodded, turning his attention back to the boy in his lap. He was still trying to free his beard from the boy's hands. Harry could only vaguely guess what the man was thinking. He was bolstered by Fawkes's presence. Albus trusted him enough that he didn't feel like he needed another wand for back up, or an active Ministry Auror for an arrest, but Harry was still a bit wary of how much social power Albus Dumbledore commanded. Dumbledore could still want to send the infant to the Dursley's for the blood protections – despite Harry's own arguments against their effectiveness – and Harry did not want the infant placed with the Dursley's. He did not want his own history to be repeated in this future.

"How much did Sirius tell you?" Harry asked.

"Your name, Hardrik Tchernov. That you were at Charlus Potter's flat and that he left Harry with you in Trust." Albus said, eying him over his half moon glasses. "That you are, in fact, from the future."

"And did you believe him?" Harry asked.

"Sirius believed you," Albus offered. Harry inclined his head slightly, grateful for the offer of forwardness. Albus didn't always give that and Harry knew that habit intimately.

"Ah," Harry said, "But you are still skeptical."

Albus nodded, but his eyes were twinkling at him. "It is not everyday that one meets another from a future so distant. Traveling hours into the past is easy with the aide of a Time Turner, and days, while rare, are possible with some unusual magics. But to have one travel years into the past is most curious."

Harry remained silent for a moment, suddenly realizing that Albus had no idea just how far Harry had actually traveled – nearly three decades. Harry was twenty-seven now, yet had arrived in a time where his past-self was just over one year old. Harry wondered why Sirius hadn't mentioned that bit of information. It was very clear that Albus Dumbledore did not know that Harry Tchernov had been born as Harry Potter. He couldn't have been. To Albus, Harry was simply a Russian man who traveled backwards in time a few years – highly unusual but not particularly startling. It would make Albus curious for a while, but would unlikely make Harry stand out terribly. More of a question, he was sure, was why a Russian Wizard was in Britain in the first place and what he wanted with the Boy-Who-Lived.

"I trust that you mean no harm," Albus said. Harry cocked his head questioningly, inviting a further explanation. He wouldn't have trusted himself so quickly, were he in Dumbledore's place. Albus pointed at the phoenix perched on the arm on the chair, preening and nearly purring under Harry's hand. "Fawkes has taken quite a liking to you."

Harry chuckled, giving the bird an extra scratch behind his head. "He would, really," Harry said and pulled his robe sleeve up on his right arm. His runes were barely visible in a line running down the length of the back of his forearm and disappearing under his bunched sleeve, dormant and no longer glowing. They continued up his arm and over his shoulder to connect to the ring around his collar. But while the rune lines were likely intriguing for the Headmaster, Harry knew that the iridescent, golden phoenix on his inner forearm was what really caught his attention. The mark shimmered in the light and seemed to move on his skin, uncurling its wings and neck as if it had just woken from a nap.

"The Order's mark," Albus said softly, staring at it. Harry was somewhat amused by the similar reactions that Sirius and Albus had at the sight of the Phoenix tattooed on his arm.

"Most interesting," Albus said, watching the phoenix on Harry's arm move around. "Who marked you?"

"You did," Harry said, watching Albus's reaction. "Some time from now." _Understatement._ Harry had been twenty-three when he was finally marked with the flaming Phoenix.

"May I?" Albus asked, gesturing to the mark. Harry nodded and offered his arm to the man. Albus shifted the infant on his lap and reached out to touch the phoenix gently with two fingers. Harry felt the mark heat and tingle at the touch, a tickling sensation that rippled beneath his skin. Phoenix song filtered around them, heard but not tangible, a sure sign of the mark's validity. A whisper of a voice echoed in his ear, the remnants of the communication charms that had been added during Voldemort's second rise. They were useless now, without the rest of the marks having been altered to accommodate the change. This Albus would unlikely be aware of them.

Albus lifted his fingers and sat back into the depths of the couch with a small smile and Harry let his sleeve fall, echoing the other man's movements and settling back into the chair.

"Gryffindor's sword?" Albus asked, glancing at the mark hidden by his sleeve. Harry nodded. The sword was uniquely crafted, and recognizable to those who knew of it. Many of the Order's marks were signed by the one who marked them; the Head usually. It was often a personal touch. Harry knew that Albus's phoenix mark carried a glowing wand casting a beam of light much like a Muggle flashlight. He didn't know the full meaning behind the symbol. Albus didn't have the time to tell all of it to him during the few times that the subject arose. For Harry, Albus had given him a valuable reminder marked into his skin with iridescent phoenix-based magic.

"A reminder," Harry said.

"Oh? Of what?"

Harry smiled at the memory, both of the time that Albus gave him the mark on his arm, as well as the old memories of his time at Hogwarts. His early years in the Wizarding world were rife with trouble, but he found a great amount of good in them as well, now able to look back and laugh and reminisce without the anger and frustration and grief that he had felt when he was younger.

"That it is my choices who makes me who I am."

Harry paused, thinking back and remembering the conversation and the events of his second year at Hogwarts. He could still recall the lost feeling he had, wondering if he had been placed wrong, if he was destined for the darkness that had permeated the Slytherin house since before Voldemort's time as a student. He had wondered and feared – not for the first or last time – if he was following a similar path as Tom Riddle had done to become Voldemort.

"But why the sword?" Albus asked softly. Harry looked back to him, a small smile on his face.

"I pulled Gryffindor's sword out of the Sorting Hat," he said.

Albus looked like he wanted to ask about that a bit more. It isn't every day that someone gets the opportunity to get near the Sorting Hat let alone pull out a Founder's artifact hidden away in it, especially a foreign wizard (which Albus believed Harry to be). Harry was pretty sure that the hiding place of that sword wasn't well known. But he was extremely reluctant to talk about the Basilisk hidden away in the Chamber of Secrets. He didn't feel like it was time to inform the Headmaster about that little detail, or anything regarding the future. He felt as if he should be careful with what he divulged about the events the future could face, especially considering he was more interested in making sure most of them never happened.

"The circumstances to which I pulled the sword out of the hat is a whole other story," Harry said, "And I do not think it is the time to tell that tale. Suffice it to say that the events that led me to pull Godric's Sword out of the hat serve as a reminder to me that I am Gryffindor, no matter what else I may also be, I belonged in the House of the Lions. The sword on my arm is a reminder that it is my choices that make me."

"As your name suggests."

Harry smiled. "Yes, exactly."

"And Tchernov, does that not mean dark?"

"Black, actually," Harry said. "You are familiar with Russian names?"

"Lion Black," Albus said with a quirk of his lips, not bothering to answer the question. He didn't really need to, it was clear that Albus had some familiarity with the etymology of Russian names, something that Harry hadn't known. He wondered if he began speaking Russian whether or not Albus would be able to continue their conversation. He knew the elder man was fluent in other languages; French, Latin, Mermish and at least some Bulgarian for sure, but there had been little use of any during the war against Voldemort. Now Harry was just curious. Just how much did Albus know about Wizarding Russia?

"Most interesting," Albus said, "I must admit that I am terribly curious."

"Yes, I'm sure you are, Albus," he said a bit wryly, "And I will tell you that story one of these days, and likely sooner than later, so you'll have to just be patient for it."

Albus laughed. "Very well, very well. I will await the day."

Harry restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He had learned that Albus always liked a good story, and he had become fond of being able to have something to tell the man that he didn't already know. Now that he had a whole lifetime worth of stories that Albus had never heard before, he was caught between his stubborn reluctance to reveal the future and a growing anticipation to tell Albus a bit about his past. His life was full of wonderful, unbelievable stories after all, and he knew that Albus would appreciate the telling of each of them. Harry also knew, however, that Albus loved a good puzzle and despite his chafing dislike at being that puzzle he would enjoy having been the one to give Albus such a mystery to ponder on. And Harry Tchernov was a mystery. Harry took a great amount of pleasure in knowing something that Albus didn't.

"And you bear Bozidar's Runes," Albus said motioning towards his arm.

Harry nodded. His rune lines were the visible result of a rather complicated bit of magic that was more ritual than spell. He knew that Albus would recognize them. The man bore the rune lines himself. It had been Albus – in a way – who had given him the old tome that described the ritual magic. Albus had hidden the book away years before Harry went and found it, unable to destroy it, but unwilling to leave it out and about. Harry wondered what this Albus would think if he knew how old Harry had been when he had performed that particular ritual. He doubted the other man would be pleased.

Harry smirked faintly, "Have you hidden the book yet?"

Albus looked momentarily surprised before settling into a contented twinkling. "No. I suppose you know where I planned to hide it, then?"

Harry's smirk grew. "I must admit that I would never have thought to look for an ancient, blood-based obscure magic tomb in the middle of the Muggle studies section of the Hogwart's library. Putting it under a glamour that made it look like a Muggle children's nursery rhyme book was quite ingenious, really."

Albus laughed, causing Harry to smile. He had missed the Headmaster. After the man's death Harry had taken his place as Head of the Order but he knew that no one could ever replace the jovial, powerful old wizard, offering lemon drops and tea to all his guests.

"Indeed, indeed," Albus said. The old man looked down at the child in his lap and wiggled his fingers in front of his face. Little colorful bubbles appeared, floating around his fingers. James watched them with wide eyes, barely moving as they circled his head and floated before his nose. The child poked a finger at a blue one, causing it to pop with a tinkling sound and rain glowing droplets of colorful sparks. The infant cried out happily and proceeded to target the rest of the little bubbles, making Albus wave them around to try to save them.

oooOoooOoooOooo

Albus didn't ask about the future, but he did offer an ear if Harry ever needed one. He only called Harry by his alias, which he appreciated as he needed to get used to hearing it again. But he was quite sure that Albus did not know that it was an alias. Sirius had not told the old man that bit of information, and Harry saw no need to inform him otherwise.

Harry was somewhat skeptical about the level of trust Albus really had in him. His early experiences with the man had him bordering on manipulative, but Albus treated him as the adult Wizard that Harry was, and he saw no deception in the man's words. He didn't blame the man for any lack of trust he had in him at this time. They had only just met after all, despite Harry's history with him. He knew very well that time was essential to build trust. He only hoped that Albus would not try to take James from him, though Albus gave no indication that he was considering such a thing. The elder didn't even mention a thought or plan involving the Dursley's, blood wards or any unusual way to protect the infant. He seemed to believe that the boy was perfectly safe where he was.

Albus did, however, cast a complicated, though low-powered, bit of magic that revealed the Trust that Harry bore for the two children. It was proof that Harry was their magical guardian. In the Wizarding world, there was no reason at all to take them from him. The twinkle in the man's eye increased quite a bit after that.

Albus told him that Sirius had, indeed, come to him and explained what had happened and who was the Potters' secret keeper. Sirius had left after their meeting but spotted Wormtail slinking around Hogsmeade. Sirius of course went after him and Wormtail played the same disappearing act he had in the first time.

Harry felt his anger and frustration grow as Albus told him that Sirius was taken to the Ministry and was being blamed for the betrayal of the Potters, injuring five, killing Wormtail and one young Witch in Hogsmeade and being a Death Eater. Sirius had been accosted only seconds after Wormtail's disappearing act, laughing madly amidst the scene and all the way down to the Ministry holding cells between eight top Aurors.

"They said Sirius kept repeating, 'he was right, I can't believe he was right,' as they took him to the Ministry," Albus said. "The Aurors just assumed he was either mad or talking about Peter, or both."

"That idiot," Harry grumbled. "He left his godson in Trust to me, and didn't even fully believe me."

"Sirius was always a good judge of character." Albus said, "And rarely did anything halfway. He would typically either love or hate a person after a remarkably short time of knowing them."

"And stubborn enough to not change that opinion until forced to by some extenuating circumstance." Harry let out a long breath, feeling both frustrated and fond at the same time.

Albus explained how there was nothing he could do. He had spent all morning at the Ministry. The Minister had such a publicity stunt tied around Voldemort's disappearance, the Potters, Wormtail's death and Sirius's supposed betrayal that anything short of sending the man directly to Azkaban would have the entire wizarding public in an outcry. The Minister wouldn't let Dumbledore near Sirius and was refusing to hear anything about the possibility that all blame couldn't be placed directly onto the shoulders of one Sirius Orion Black. Without a confession from a live Peter Pettigrew, there was nothing that they could do.

Sirius was scheduled for transfer to Azkaban at dusk.

Harry sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Sirius was still being put in Azkaban an innocent man. Wormtail was still free, unknown, a rat likely. In the first timeline Wormtail hadn't shown up at the Weasley's until two years after, when young Percival Weasley turned seven and carried a scraggly rat into the Burrow from the back garden. Harry did not know where Wormtail was until that time, and he feared that he wouldn't have a chance to trace the rat until he showed up at the Weasley's.

Harry opened his eyes and looked at the infant form of himself. The boy was smiling, trying to grab Albus's glasses from his nose. He wondered what his own first few days with the Dursley's had been like. Barely tolerated, shushed and hushed and touched only out of necessity. No, he told himself, the child sitting on Albus's knees was not the same, and he would make sure of that in the years to come. Harry was holding out a lot of hope that the future would not be the same as his past.

oooOoooOoooOooo

**Author's Note:** Harry's Bozidar's runes are inspired from a couple concepts. One, and the earliest, is probably the Patryn runes from the Death Gate Cycle books by Margaret Weis and Tracey Hickman. Patryn runes and magic are very different from the Bozidar's runes, but I've always been fond of them. The second inspiration is undoubtably from Miranda Fairgold's fan-based stories and her concept of blood magic. You can find her in my fave's list here. Again, there are major differences, but the inspirational source is still there and I recognize that. Kudos.

Noblesse – (French) meaning 1) aristocratic social position or rank and 2) the members of an aristocracy, especially the French aristocracy. Used in the above chapter was a combination of the two, denoting a symbol that marked a noble rank (such as a seal, emblem, crest, herald, etc). The noblesse emblem.


	26. Elemental 01

**Author's Note:** Crossover: Harry Potter & Naruto

o- **The Girl with Red Hair **-o

By: Renatus

Harry was five when he discovered the picture and his life changed.

His Aunt Petunia had gotten into a rare mood to clean, and not the dust the family portraits along the mantle in the parlor, but the deep sort of clean that had Harry carting old boxes out of the hallway closet so she could sift through them for anything valuable and then out to the curb with them.

Once the last of the little cardboard boxes was dumped across the kitchen table, Harry crawled under it, hoping to be forgotten for a while so he could rest after trucking up and down the stairs all morning. It worked until his Aunt pushed a few too many of the old pictures and cards from the box onto the floor. Harry had caught sight of a particularly colorful little envelope, and upon inspection found only a picture inside of it. It was of a toddling girl, bright hair streaming around her, red as the bridge she stood on. Buildings of a shape he'd never seen before rose around her into a happy little city, with a sparkling horizon of water that stretched up to the blue sky.

On the back was written only, _'our little flower.'_

He thought it was his mother at first. He had heard once his Aunt say his mother had red hair.

Petunia took one look at it over her nephew's shoulder and gave a disdainful sniff. Harry jumped and hunched at the sound, wary of a slap to the back of his head or the woman snatching the precious little photo out of his hand.

She did neither.

"Our cousin's kid," she commented, thoughtful and clearly having forgotten her unwanted nephew. "Kisha, or Kusha or some such odd name as that. Such an odd bunch. Strange, like your parents' no good friends."

Then the woman eyed her nephew with the same disdainful look she had given the photo. Harry shrunk further into himself. The last time he had seen that look his Aunt had decided to teach Harry how to fry bacon so as to earn his keep.

Petunia snatched the envelope out of his little hand, ignoring the gasp the boy made as its edge sliced through the flesh of his fingers. She turned the cheery yellow envelope over in her hands and her eyes lit up at the writings scrawled down its face.

"We'll see about that extended family," she said to him. "You'll be much happier over there in China, or whatever land they're in, Asians, the lot of them."

Harry remained silent. She didn't expect him to answer or respond. Every time his Aunt wanted him to make a sound at all she would tell him so. Until then he was to keep his mouth shut, and so he did.

She narrowed her eyes at him, her lips curling into a plotting smirk. "On the other side of the world, they are, boy."

Then she walked away.

Harry watched her balefully from under the table, sucking on his fingers and clutching the photo of the little red-headed girl to his chest. _Family._

o-

It was many months later that the topic of the cousin from China came up again.

"Get the mail, boy," his Uncle commanded.

And like he had done for two years, Harry retrieved the mail from the little pile it made by the door. He didn't bother to sift through it, though he eyed the many narrow white envelopes and the periodical featuring kitchen wares and a happy dumpy woman in a ruffly apron on its cover. Amidst the stack was a cheery yellow envelope.

His Aunt snatched the pile from him before he got more than a glance at it. She tossed the bills into a bin on the counter, the magazine onto her empty plate at the table and then stared at the yellow envelope with a surprised look. She sunk into her chair slowly, still staring at the cheery color.

"What is it, pet?" Uncle Vernon asked, noticing his wife's sudden mood, but not bothering to stop eating.

"It's –" Petunia shook her head and looked up at Vernon, turning the envelope's face so he could read it from across the table. "It's from Japan."

"Japan! Who's in Japan?"

"My mother's half sister," Petunia said.

Uncle Vernon squinted at the woman, making his face look rather like a shriveled prune. He had actually stopped eating in order to give his attention to his wife and the envelope from the other side of the world. Harry held his silence, barely daring to breathe, hoping that they'd continue to forget he was still there and standing by the table and hearing everything they said and not keeping up with refilling their teacups.

"I thought you sent it off to China?" Vernon finally asked.

"No, I was mistaken," said Petunia, eyeing the envelope's writing. "It's some place over there by Japan, not China."

Vernon grunted. "So what's it say? Will they take the freak off us?"

Dudley, sitting between his parents, with his plate under his chin caught onto the conversation then. "Is the freak boy going away?"

Dudley, when his parents did not respond, turned a pinched, pucky look to his cousin. Harry thought it made him look more like a pig than it usually did. Harry responded with a flat look of his own, unimpressed with his portly cousin's attempt to intimidate him.

Petunia pursed her lips, looking down at her nephew with a sour expression. Harry hunched his shoulders and shuffled back a step, eyeing his Aunt from downcast eyes and his overgrown fringe of hair.

"If they don't, maybe we could just stuff the boy in a box and ship it off to them anyways," his Uncle said. Then he returned his attention to his breakfast, only giving his wife periodic glances as the woman tore the envelope apart. Neither gave Harry much attention at all, as if talking about shipping him by freight to China or Japan wasn't about to change his life utterly.

Harry rather hoped that they would. How long would it take to be shipped to China?

He watched his Aunt pull out a rather long letter, it's writing about as sketchy and crooked as Harry's attempts had been in school last year. Petunia's face puckered increasingly as she read through it and by the time she had flipped the paper over and reached its end she was frowning deeply and oh, she did not look pleased at all. Harry shuffled back further, making sure that he was out of reach of her long spindly arms in case she decided to whip one of them at him.

"Well?" Vernon asked around the slice of ham he had just stuffed into his cheeks.

Petunia fisted her fingers into the yellow paper and hit the table hard enough to rattle her teacup.

"They won't take him," she said stiffly.

Vernon's eyes narrowed again. "Well why not?"

Petunia waved the crumpled letter angrily. "Says there's a war going on and it's not safe for him to come or them to leave to get him!"

Did that mean they wanted him or not?

"Rubbish! If there was a war we'd have heard it on the telly." Vernon scowled, his face changing colors in a display that Harry was well familiar with and highly wary of. For the third time since he had delivered the mail to his Aunt Harry shifted backwards away from the table.

"I wanna watch the telly!" Dudley exclaimed, spewing a bit of his eggs across the table.

"After breakfast, Dudley," Petunia said absently, eyeing the letter with a dark scowl.

"I still say we box him up," his Uncle said, waving his fork at Harry. "Send him off before school starts up again so I don't have to pay money for the freak." Vernon eyed the boy down the length of the utensil, then eyed the chunk of ham on its end. Vernon stuffed the meat into his mouth, chewing loudly and squinting at Harry with a slightly disgusted look.

"Mum!"

"Perhaps," said his Aunt, drawing Harry's scattered attention. She had the look on her face that was the same as when she was peering through the blinds at the neighbors and trying to figure out what they were up to.

She smiled grimly at him, smirking. "Perhaps so," she said.

Harry hadn't seen her quite so happy since she got her new frying pan last spring.

"Telly, mum!"

"Then go, Dudley," Petunia said, still eyeing Harry like he was some particularly difficult puzzle.

Harry, hunched, stuffed his hands into his pockets, his fingers curling around the little picture of the red-headed girl hidden there. He wasn't sure what his Aunt's look meant for him. He wasn't sure to be wary or happy about it. Maybe they'd send him to his distant relatives in China – Japan?

Would _they_ want him? Or would they just send him back to the Dursleys?

o-

The Dursleys had Harry on a plane out of Heathro by the end of the summer.

All three of them had driven Harry down to London for the momentous occasion. And as Petunia handed her nephew off to a stewardess chaperone, she stuffed the yellow envelope into his pocket.

"You'll need that when you get there," she said, her smile too sharp to be pleasant. "It's their address."

Harry let the blonde stewardess grab his hand and small duffle bag, even as he stared between his Aunt and the crowds of people in the airport.

"Come along, honey," his blonde babysitter said. The curvy blonde tugged on his hand and with one last look at the Dursley family Harry turned and followed her. The Dursley's waved with happy smiles on their faces. Harry hoped that he wouldn't have to see them again.

"Honestly, sending a five-year-old onto a plane by himself," the stewardess grumbled, dragging him through the airport at a speed that had Harry jogging to keep up.

"Six," he told her.

His voice made her stop so suddenly that Harry took three steps further and got tugged back by his arm. He eyed the grip she had on his hand sourly. She didn't seem inclined to let him go any time soon.

"What did you say, hun?"

Harry looked up into her brown eyes, noticing that her hair was darker when closer to her head. The rest of her blonde locks was twisted up into a messy bun with flyaway strands of hair around her ears.

"I'm six," said Harry. "My birthday was last week."

She eyed him with some skepticism, her eyes tracking his short skinny height as if trying to weigh him in.

"Very well, sweetheart," she said. "Let's go. We don't want you to be late for your flight." She began walking again, dragging him along like a dog on a leash. Harry just concentrated on keeping his feet under his body and his arm attached to his shoulder. He barely heard anything the woman was saying as she ranted with a vaguely polite scowl. "Your relatives barely got you here on time. Honestly! Over thirty minutes late to drop you off. They're lucky they didn't miss the flight entirely. Who sends a kid on a plane alone anyways?"

Harry thought that she should know that the Dursley's did exactly that.

o-

The flight was long and Harry slept through most of it.

When not sleeping he was munching through a seemingly endless supply of little bags of peanuts and drawing random designs across the pages of the in-flight catalogue with the pen his babysitter, Miss Darcy, gave him. For her part, the blonde seemed to have spent the entirety of the flight chatting up the man in the suit across the aisle. Harry knew the look on her face. Petunia got it every time the milkman came by.

By the time they reached the other side of the world Harry's bum was numb, he had run out of pages in the catalogue and Darcy was grumbling in a darker tone than when they had left.

And like she had in Heathro, the blonde dragged him through the strange airport by his hand, Harry jogging to keep up with her brisk pace in the crowds.

"Where are they?" she mumbled, scanning the people around them. The stewardess attached to his hand shuffled through the crowd, dragging him along. Harry let her and turned most of his attention to the crowd. Some of them held signs, most of them held signs that had pretty scribbles scrawled across them. The people looked different, like the little boy in his class, Pang, Ping, Harry couldn't remember his name. But he remembered his face, he had been nice to Harry until Dudley had broken his nose and told Pong that Harry was a freak and not to go near him. Peong had steered very clear of Harry after that day, as had every other kid on the playground.

It was two hours later that Harry realized that something was wrong. Or rather, Harry knew what was going on, and the stewardess began to figure out that something was wrong.

Darcy had gone from grumbling to dark cursing and most of the people had thinned to the point that only a few remained behind with Harry and his babysitter. He had been perched on a bench with his duffle beside him while she stood next to him tapping her shoes onto the floor with steady clacks.

"Well?" she asked. Harry jumped at the sudden address, and peered up at the woman. She was frowning down at him, her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pursed in the way that meant trouble for Harry. He hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself look smaller. Maybe she would forget about him, since she seemed a bit too keen on glaring at him right now.

"Where is your family?" she asked him. Harry didn't answer, he wouldn't have had time to anyways. "They were supposed to be here when the plane landed. That was hours ago! This is ridiculous! Rude! I've things to do besides babysit a boy for them all day." She poked her fingernail into his shoulder. "Well?"

Harry shrugged and shook his head in the negative.

She puffed up her cheeks and let out a huff of air, turning her glare to the general environment around them. Harry let out a quiet breath.

She had gone back and forth from Harry to the phone booth beside the bench, her eyes on him the entire time like a hawk. Harry heard the dial-tone and subsequent ringing blare out from the phone as the woman scowled at it and held it a foot away from her ear.

"Hello?" his Uncle Vernon's voice came through the phone, loud.

"Mr. Dursley, this is Darcy Clapp calling from British Airways in Tokyo," the blonde said into the phone, "I'm here with your nephew Harry –"

"Haven't got a nephew!" Vernon yelled through the phone. Harry hunched his shoulders even further.

The stewardess looked scandalized. "Mr. Dursley, I'm –"

"Don't know any Potter neither," Vernon continued, his voice a bit high pitched and very loud through the receiver. "Don't call back here, saleswoman! I don't want what you're selling! We're going on vacation! To Majorka! For weeks! Good bye!"

"Why, I never!"

The sound of a phone being fumbled, distant curses, and then a slam echoed out of the receiver. The dial-tone rang through the following silence like a screeching alarm. Harry stared at the phone in minor horror. He didn't even hear his babysitter's string of complaints and insults directed at his family in England.

Harry knew that they hadn't liked him. They had never pretended to, and had told him so at least every other day since he could remember.

But his Uncle had just disowned him entirely.

"Do you have the number of your family here in Japan, hun?" she asked. Harry started and looked at the blonde. She had kneeled next to the bench, putting her on his level. Harry studied her. She still wasn't happy, that much was obvious. She looked down right annoyed actually. But she didn't seem about to backhand him or wave a frying pan about anymore, so Harry figured it was safe to communicate.

"No, ma'am," he said, which caused her to frown. "But I have their address."

"Let's have it then."

Harry dug the yellow envelope out of his pocket, where it had spent the entire flight, and handed it to her. She took it and studied it for a moment, sighed, and grabbed his duffle off the bench.

"Come on, let's find an officer who can contact them for us."

Harry allowed her to grab his hand and lead him off again.

The stewardess flagged down a man in a uniform and proceeded to spout out a language that had Harry openly staring at her. The officer too stared, though he seemed as if he were trying to figure out what she was saying. Their conversation was a bit stumbling, and punctuated with a plethora of gestures, many of them directed at Harry, who had taken to hunching half behind the blonde woman through the duration. The man in the uniform kept looking at him with a squinty-eyed expression that reminded Harry of Petunia when she was angry.

Then the woman handed the yellow envelope to the man.

The officer stared at the envelope, stared at the stewardess and then stared at Harry. His eyes were wider than Harry had yet seen them.

"You go here?" he asked, pointing at Harry then to the envelope.

Harry nodded. He supposed that was the idea. To go to where his distant relatives were. He wouldn't be going back to the Dursleys, that much was obvious. Even if they put him back on a plane to England, the Dursleys would be gone off to Majorka and no one would be there in Heathro to pick him up.

"This," the officer said, pointing to the scribbled letters on the envelope, "this… hard."

"What do you mean hard?" Darcy sputtered, indignant. "What's hard about it? Just look up their number and call them. They can't just abandon this boy here!"

Harry rather thought that they could, actually. The Dursleys had, after all.

The officer made a cutting motion with his hand, slicing it back and forth through the air from his wrist. He seemed tried for patience.

"Hard," he said with finality.

Harry let out a breath and hung his head between his hunched shoulders. Now what?

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder and he jumped at the unexpected contact. The officer didn't remove his hand, even as Harry leaned back from the man's sudden proximity. He just smiled a bit at the boy, which soothed Harry's nerves more than it ought to have.

"Hard," the officer said again, holding the envelope out. "Yes – possible." The officer offered the cheery yellow envelope with a little nudge. Harry took it slowly, fingering the parchment paper with ginger fingers. The officer nodded and Harry gave the man a small smile in return.

"Burumaru-san," the officer said, pointing to himself.

Harry repeated the name, then pointed to his own chest. "Harry."

The officer nodded, pointed at Harry's chest and said, "Hari-kun."

Harry frowned at the change. The man had rolled the r's in his name oddly, hard, as if they were almost l's, and the added 'kun' did nothing but confuse him.

The officer returned his attention to the stewardess, and during the ensuing conversation, Harry studied the envelope. He stared at the lettering across its face, forming the words slowly in his mind. Petunia Dursley, Number Four Privet Drive – Harry stopped and began again at the other set of letters. Kushina Uzumaki, Kono – Konohagakure, Hi no Kuni. It all meant very little to him, all except the name: Kushina.

Didn't his Aunt say that her cousin's kid was named something like that?

Harry stuffed his hand into his pocket and pulled the picture out. It was dog-eared and crinkled from living in his pocket for so long, but the bright colors of the photo were still there, and the little toddling girl stared back at him with a bright, wide smile.

Kushina, _'our little flower.'_

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and Harry looked up from the picture to the officer.

"You, come," he said. And with that the stewardess handed over Harry's duffle and leash and the uniformed man pulled Harry out of the airport by his arm.

o-

The following few hours were something of a confused blur for Harry.

The man's understanding of English was slim, and Harry's understanding of what he came to know as Japanese was nonexistent. Communication between the two males, thus consisted of a great deal of hand gestures and charades, which was effective enough for Harry to inform him when he had to pee, was hungry or wondered what in the world something was.

The man had taken him to some sort of official looking office where Harry was invited to remain in a chair for most of the afternoon munching on salty, fishy snacks and water from the fountain nearby. By the time the sky was turning colors out the wide windows the officer led him back out of the office with a sheef of papers under his arm.

"Three weeks," the man said, holding up three fingers in front of Harry's nose. "Then you go."

Then Burumaru-san took him to his home, where Harry stayed for those three weeks.

The officer had a wife – Maoko – who spoke no English at all, and a teenaged daughter - Fuyu – who was fluent enough that Harry didn't know the difference. The girl was all too happy to teach the little British boy in her home her language, and Harry found himself at the receiving end of a series of cheery little lessons about how to count, and greet someone properly and bowing. The bowing was odd.

By the time Burumaru-san told him to pack his duffle up and that he was leaving, Harry had enough of a grasp of the language that he could at least say hello, thank you, candy please, and 'I don't speak Japanese, do you know English, please sir?' And somewhere along the route Harry learned what Maoko said every time she saw him ("You are too thin, boyo!") and placed food in front of him. Apparently, she thought he was far too thin for his good. At least Harry learned how to use the chopsticks from how often she fed him.

Maoko handed him a lunchbox wrapped in a brightly patterned cloth, and Fuyu hugged him and ruffled his hair, making it stand even more on end than it usually did. She chirped out a tearful goodbye amidst a cheerful rendition about luck and fortune and life and Harry stopped listening.

He was sad to see them go.

Then Burumaru-san took his hand and dragged him out of the house.

Their trip progressed in silence, Harry more intrigued by the scenery outside the train's windows, and the officer filling numbers into a little book of squares and puzzles. They returned to the office-building, and Burumaru-san gave him the packet of papers.

"This," he said, waving the thick envelope of papers in front of his face, "Yours. Not lose!" Harry nodded, holding the envelope tightly in his hands. "You go with Ito-san," the officer said, pointing to a tall, dark-haired man in slacks and sandals who was standing nearby. Harry eyed the man nervously. Ito-san was broad-shouldered and taller than the officer and had the air of tensed power about him that put Harry a bit on edge.

"Ito-san go with you," the officer was saying, pushing Harry towards the grim-looking guy. "Take you to family, yes. Villages closed because of war. Ito-san take you close and then walk."

Harry wasn't sure he had a choice in the matter. Ito-san didn't grab Harry's hand like the stewardess and the officer had done. Instead he put his large hand on the back of Harry's neck and steered him deeper into the office building that way. Harry glanced behind him once to see Burumaru wave with an encouraging smile.

Harry expected to be shuffled back onto a bus, or an airplane, or even a boat. He did not expect to be led into a window-less cinder-blocked room and locked in with the intimidating Ito-san. The man didn't speak. He just led Harry into the center of the room and with simple gestures that Harry would be stupid to misinterpret, told him to not move. The finger motion across the man's throat made Harry swallow heavily and nod a bit frantically. He planted his little feet where the man told him to and barely dared to breathe.

With his duffle slung across his shoulder, and the packet of papers clutched against his chest, Harry watched the tall Ito with some curiosity and no little amount of trepidation. The man was wandering around the room inspecting the floor with a critical eye. Harry finally took his eyes off the man long enough to inspect the floor himself. The smooth surface had been carved. Intricate designs that Harry now knew to be Japanese characters crawled across the flagstones in a complex circular pattern of circles within circles.

Harry stood alone in its center.

Ito pinned the boy with a stern gaze, motioning that Harry not move. Harry nodded quickly, not wanting to anger the man. The tall man seemed satisfied with his response, then kneeled on the outer edge of the circular pattern in the floor.

Harry _felt_ it. A ripple of force passed through him, making Harry clutch his forearm around his middle at the strange sensation. Wind whipped up out of nowhere, blowing his hair into and out of his eyes. It ruffled Ito's clothes and swirled around the room like a hurricane.

Blue light trickled across the floor, spreading from the kneeling Ito across the carved designs. It lit the room in a brilliant blue glow, highlighting the scripted characters and designs of the pattern.

Harry was fascinated.

Another wave of unseen force slammed through him and Harry fought to remain standing where he was as it threatened to topple him to the floor – or across the room. Then a flash of light so bright that Harry cried out, squeezing his eyes shut and curling in on himself in a crouch, remembering only to keep his feet rooted to his spot and his hands on the envelope against his chest.

The ripple of force was back, making his legs shake as it built up around him, squeezing the air from his lungs and whipping him right off his feet as if someone had picked him up by his ankle and shook him.

Harry fell.

o-

His landing was rough, but cushioned, knocking the wind out of him and leaving him dazed.

He stared blankly up at the ceiling – canopy. Grand, tall trees towered over him, weaving their branches together into an intricate knot work of limbs and leaves. Filtered sunlight streamed through them, casting the shadowed leaves into a bright array of dappled colors and floating pollen. Cicadas called loudly through the trees, competing with the birds in a cacophony song.

Harry lay in his pile of leaves and ferns, breathing and listening to the sounds of a forest so grand he was sure he was dreaming.

Then Ito's stern face blocked out the pretty streamers of light above him.

The man motioned for him to get up, and with a huff and a heave, Harry found his footing. His duffle swung around him from its strap. Ito-san made a few quick motions with his hands and Harry stood staring for a moment as he worked out what the man wanted. Nodding, Harry stuffed his packet of papers into the duffle and secured the bag across his chest and shoulder, settling the pack against his back.

Harry watched as the man pulled out a strip of dark cloth and tied it around his head. Knotted tightly in the midst of his brown hair, the bandana sported a shiny metal plate on its front, right over his forehead. Ito then picked him up and swung him onto his broad back. Harry sucked in a startled gasp, suddenly finding himself attached to the man with his arms around his neck and his legs held in firm hands at Ito's sides.

Ito asked him something in Japanese, turning his head to catch Harry's eyes, "Are you ready, boy?" It was the first time he had spoken to Harry and despite the language, Harry knew what he had said. His three weeks of lessons with Fuyu had taught him much.

Harry responded in kind, "yes, sir."

Ito looked surprised, though barely so. His facial features didn't seem to be inclined to share his emotions much, but Harry's face was close enough to his that he saw the slight widening of the eyes and raised eyebrows.

Ito pointed at the metal plate on his forehead and said quietly, "This is Konoha's symbol. Those who wear this symbol are your friends, boy. Trust only them. Konoha is at war."

Harry memorized the swirled pattern, nodding his understanding, and wondered what symbol marked those on the other side of the war.

The man raised a hand and laid a finger over his own lips – the universal sign for silence. Harry nodded his ascent.

Ito gripped his thighs and jumped up into the _trees_.

The rush of wind across his ears nearly whistled and his hair whipped around his head in a wild array. Ito's grip on his legs and Harry's death grip around the man's neck kept him from falling to the ground. And it would not be a fall he'd likely come out of unscathed. Ito was _running_ through the trees anywhere from ten to twenty meters off the ground, leaping between the branches of the trees like some sort of steroid monkey.

Harry just concentrated on leeching himself to the man's back and trying to catch his breath in the rush. He had lost it somewhere in that initial jump.

Once his surprise settled, and he got the hang of breathing through the rushing wind, Harry found himself enjoying the run through the tops of the trees. A lot. He knew he was probably grinning like a maniac, but the sheer energy and speed of Ito's effortless run, the wind whistling across his ears, the leaves of the trees occasionally grabbing at his wild hair and tickling… it was exhilarating.

The morning passed uneventfully. Ito paced himself through the trees at a steady loping gate that left him taking deep breaths when they stopped for lunch, but otherwise seemingly untired. Harry perched himself in a crouched position with his back to one of the towering trees and rested the bento box Maoko had given him on the top of his knees. Their short lunch break was as silent as their run had been. Harry concentrated on his lunch and trying not to clack the chopsticks against the box's rim too loudly. Ito munched through two chewy bars and eyed the dappled shadows of the forest around them.

Harry was observant enough to know that the other man was wary.

The afternoon continued much like the morning. Harry clung to Ito's back, and the man leaped from branch to branch in a dazzling run that despite the hours acting like a baby monkey, Harry was far from bored of.

It was shortly after Ito's whispered, "we are nearly there," that the man's wariness paid off.

Something sharp and shiny shot past Harry's ear, so close he could feel it's passing as it sliced through his hair. Ito dropped off the branch in a sudden move that had Harry gripping the man for dear life. They twisted and spun through the air and suddenly they were back on the branch they had started on. Harry gasped as he realized that the man had somehow spun the two of them around the tree limb like an acrobat in a circus.

But where before their path had been clear save for leaves and sunbeams, now a curious looking person stood facing them. He was relatively small, a teen really, and dressed darkly with dull metal armor plates strapped to his chest, arms and legs. He wore some sort of mask that covered his nose and mouth, and like Ito, had a bandana tied around his head. His symbol was different, however.

It was the blood and the weapon that stood out, though. The blood was everywhere, splattered across his chest plate and it looked to have soaked his entire left sleeve. A triangular-shaped knife spun on the end of his finger, its edge glinting whenever it caught what little sunlight filtered down through the leaves. Harry sucked in a breath as a stinging pain filtered into his senses. He touched his ear gingerly, finding the pain and pulling his fingers away. His blood stained his fingers and he stared at it. He hadn't even felt it get cut.

"Iwa," said Ito softly, though his voice carried deeply through the trees. "You are very close to Konoha, little Iwa-nin. Did you get lost in the forest?"

Harry stared incredulously at the man he clung to. He was taunting him?

"Let me pass," the bloodied boy demanded.

"Escaping?" asked Ito.

The Iwa-nin crouched low over one heel, the other thrown out before him on the branch. His knife was no longer twirling, but held tight in one fist as his second hand palmed the hilt. No matter the mask, Harry could tell that this boy was serious. It wasn't quite the look that Dudley got when he led a game of Harry Hunting. Nor was it the look of his Uncle Vernon when Harry got in the way one too many times. It was the look that _Harry_ got when faced with either Dudley or Vernon – the one where Harry learned what desperation and panic was, and the urge to fight his way out so he could _run_.

Ito swung Harry off his back effortlessly, and Harry teetered for a moment before he found his own balance. The branch of the tree he was on was wide, but high, and Harry kneeled down in order to grip the rough bark with his hands, feeling a little like a precariously perched chicken in a tree.

The bloodied boy moved faster than Harry could see. One moment he was ten meters away, and the next Ito was ducking under a curled punch and back-swing with a sharp blade. Harry stared up at the two in rising awe. Their fight was wild and quick, consisting of hands, feet and deflected sharp objects that whistled off into the trees. And still the two remained perfectly balanced atop the tree limb.

One of the boy's endless supply of sharp pointy objects whizzed over Harry's head, and he ducked even as it passed through his hair. He turned and frowned at the thing, now embedded into the trunk of the tree. He ran a hand over the top of head and inspected his fingers, but didn't find blood.

With a glance at the dueling pair barely a meter away from him, Harry gripped the handle of the knife and yanked hard. It slid out of the trunk with some difficultly, and the force Harry used to pull it out nearly toppled him out of the tree.

The sudden jarring of the branch he was perched on did topple him.

He caught only the flare of light out of the corner of his eye before the world fell out from under him. He fell. Most of the tree limb fell after him in a rain of splinters and leaves. Something caught him just before the ground did, and the rough handling put a crick in his neck even though he was thankful. Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind and he felt a solid body at his back.

The feeling of something cool and sharp touching his throat made him freeze.

"Don't move," came the muffled sound of the boy's voice. It hissed out through his mask and across Harry's head with the sound of threat and promise. Harry wasn't about to move, but his eyes roamed his range of vision a bit frantically. The tree limb had broken across the ground and leaves were still falling through the trees. The forest seemed oddly quiet after the crash of the tree. He found Ito picking himself up from the other side of the felled branch. The man didn't get far.

Harry couldn't see very well with the leafy log in the way, but he could see enough. Ito's motions were twisted and strained. He couldn't lift himself much more than his torso up off the ground. Harry suspected the man's leg was caught under the fallen tree limb.

For the first time since that morning Harry spoke, "Ito-san."

The teen behind him tightened his grip on his shoulders and the knife shifted. Harry didn't feel pain, but he did feel the warm trail of liquid that dribbled down into the hollow of his collarbone. He sucked in a breath as he pushed his body back into the solid wall the teen made behind him, trying to put distance that wasn't there between his neck and the blade.

"Leave the boy, Iwa-nin," said Ito, his voice strained.

"Can you even stand?" asked the teen. "What are you going to do?"

"He's a boy," said Ito, staring over the edge of the log with a dark look. "A civilian child. He's untrained."

The Iwa-nin behind Harry hummed deep enough that he could feel the vibrations at his back. Harry got the feeling that the teen didn't believe Ito. The grip around his shoulders tightened roughly, even as the blade at his throat left. Harry saw only the glint of metal as the knife flew through the air. Ito disappeared behind the log with a pained sound.

Harry grit his teeth, not knowing, but assuming that the blade had hit the man. The man whose back Harry had spent the majority of the day wrapped around. The man who was taking him to a family who might not abandon him like the Dursley's were so quick to. He clenched his fists and felt the woven fabric of the handle of the knife in his right hand.

He hadn't lost it in the fall from the tree.

Harry swung hard and wild, aiming up and behind. He held the knife like he had seen the boy hold it; gripped tight in his right hand, powered by his left and the force of his entire, tiny body. He twisted in the other's embrace, feeling the dirt and leaves under his feet shift. He didn't feel the blade cut, but he did feel it when the edge of his right fist slammed into the thick fabric and solid muscle of the other's bicep.

The teen yelled and pushed him away and Harry went sprawling to the ground, hard.

He stared at the teen clutching the top of his arm. Harry's eyes tracked down to his own hands, to the blade he still clutched in a white-knuckled grip. It glinted wetly, red, and blood coated his own hand and the hem of his long sleeves. He forced his hand to open and his fingers responded with a sluggish twitch. The blade tumbled out of his grasp to the ground between his knees. Smooth sharp pains in the flesh of his thumb and forefinger made him suck in a breath. It was similar to when he had first cut himself with one of Petunia's kitchen knives, except… smoother in a way his Aunt's dull blades weren't. Harry couldn't tell how much of the blood was the teen's and how much was his.

The Iwa-nin hissed out a string of angry words that Harry's limited vocabulary didn't cover. He shot his gaze up to the teen standing over him. He was still clutching his arm, blood seeping through his fingers in a sluggish, bright pattern. Pain and anger was etched across his masked face and his eyes were glaring harshly down on him. Harry both leaned backwards and raised his arm up in front of his chest. He wished he hadn't dropped the knife, but he didn't know what he'd do with it now anyways.

The teen's movements were faster than Harry could react to, but slower than they had been when he had first attacked Ito in the branches. Harry was scooped up off the ground and slammed into the unforgiving embrace of a tree. He let out a pained, strained sound from his throat that sounded high-pitched to his ears. Just as his bearings evened out enough for him to open his eyes again the Iwa-nin's forearm whip-smashed across his chest.

Any air in his lungs escaped him and he struggled to breathe, unable to. His body spasmed and it felt like his ribs had been constricted into his chest. He couldn't breathe!

There was a shout from somewhere. It was followed by a few quick, scuffling sounds and a thud, but Harry couldn't concentrate enough to find the source of the noise. He curled over himself trying to gasp in a breath, wrapping his arms one over his abdomen and one across his front, hoping to block any further strikes.

A firm hand gripped his shoulder and Harry jerked away, slamming back into the tree behind him in his haste. The bark bit into the flesh of his back, but he didn't care. He still couldn't breathe.

"Easy," soothed a voice.

The hand remained and a second gripped his other shoulder. They forced him backwards firmly, but not painfully, straightening his shoulders. Harry squinted at who had a hold of him, and found the face of an unknown blonde man. Bright blue eyes looked back at him with concern. It was an emotion that Harry had directed at him very few times in his memory.

"Easy," the blonde said again. He pushed Harry's shoulders back into the tree, and pulled his arm away from his abdomen. "Straighten up, relax."

Harry did as he was told, though relaxing wasn't easy when black was edging into his vision and he was panicking at his body's lack of oxygen and the pounding rush in his head.

"Breathe," commanded the blonde.

Something low in his chest finally shifted and Harry sucked in a breath, suddenly and quick, filling his lungs with an edge of desperate relief. He let it out in a rush and gasped in air again.

"Good," the man said. Harry looked up at him, still gulping air in a sort of happy delirium at being able to breathe again. The blonde gave him an encouraging smile, and squeezed his hand on Harry's shoulder. It was a foreign, supportive gesture to Harry.

"Are you injured?" the blonde asked.

Harry's chest ached and his back throbbed and the sharp pains in his hand from the knife burned. Harry raised his right hand and the blonde took it in his own. He turned it over in strong hands, and gently swiped at the blood with his thumbs. Harry couldn't help the hiss through his teeth when one of the man's thumbs found the slices across his fingers. The blonde glanced at him and back to his hand.

"This was the first time you used a kunai?"

Harry wasn't sure what a kunai was and told him so.

The blonde blinked at him and Harry wondered if he had screwed up the words.

"You are foreign," said the blonde, obviously surprised. Then one of the triangular blade knives appeared in the blonde's hand. "This is a kunai."

Harry looked at the kunai knife then back to the blonde's blue eyes and answered his previous question. "Yes sir."

The kunai disappeared and the blonde nodded. "Well done."

Harry stared, unused to the words being directed his way. The blonde continued to wipe the blood from his hand, careful of the cuts even as they seeped a bright red. Harry just watched him, struck by the man's firm yet undeniably gentle handling. The blood was wiped away, and cool white bandages were wrapped around his finger, thumb and hand. The cuts continued to pain him, but Harry was no stranger to the sensation.

The blonde squeezed his shoulder again and got to his feet. Harry remained where he was, suddenly realizing that he had sat at some point, but not really caring. He relished in his newfound appreciation for the ability to breathe and watched the blonde's three young friends move about the fallen tree limb. Two boys, one girl, all young teens. Younger, even, than the Iwa teenager. They had managed to free Ito, and the man was grumbling as the girl hovered over his leg. One of the boys stood looking over her shoulder, his spiky black hair made more so by the strap of cloth around his forehead. He was pointing over the girl's shoulder at the man's leg, which didn't look to be sitting at a comfortable angle. As he watched, Ito snarked something up at the boy, who grinned widely back at him, and the girl swatted the arm out of her face.

"Ito-san," said Harry. His voice caught everybody's attention, including the grumbling man leaning against the felled tree limb. Ito stopped his complaining and looked Harry over. He wasn't sure how he looked, but Harry felt pretty awful.

"Alright, boy?" asked Ito.

Harry nodded, and let his body settle into the tree's embrace.

o-

The rest of the journey through the forest was slower than it's beginning. Ito's leg was rather mangled and he had to be supported by the tall blonde. The girl, Rin, trailed along at Ito's side, keeping a careful eye on him and reminding him often to not put any weight on that leg. Harry was finding a rising amusement in Ito's stream of grumbling responses. The Iwa teenager had been bound and thrown over the shoulder of a white-haired boy with a cloth mask. Harry hadn't yet caught his name nor been introduced and the boy said very little. He didn't seem at all burdened by the weight of the other.

Harry, despite having spent the majority of the day clinging to another's back, still found himself rather exhausted after the scuffle and his run in with certain death, he was sure. Instead of walking as he might have otherwise done at their slow pace, he found himself being piggy-backed again. This time, on the black-haired boy's back.

The boy had greeted him loudly and cheerfully, his dark eyes somehow bright through the goggles that wrapped around his face. "Heya! I'm Obito!"

Initially startled at the boy's enthusiastic nature, Harry was quickly growing to like him. Obito chatted constantly through their trek, a stark contrast to the silent journey Harry and Ito had taken. Any sense of wariness had long faded and a strong feeling of security wrapped around the little group. They walked surely and confidently and Harry marveled at it.

"Where are you from, Hari-chan?" asked Obito, turning his head to look at Harry over his shoulder.

"England."

"Where?"

"It's far from here," said the blonde. "Beyond the Elemental Nations."

"Beyond the Elemen – Minato-sensei!"

Minato glanced at Obito and Harry with a small smile. "Hari-kun has traveled a long way."

Obito's stare went from Harry to the blonde and back again. "Woah. What're ya doing here?"

Harry shrugged, not knowing how to answer. How could he say that his Aunt put him on a plane to the other side of the world because she didn't want him in her home? How could he tell them that he was desperately hoping for some distant family to just _accept_ him? He wasn't even sure he had the words to answer them.

Ito answered for him, "the last of his family is in Konoha."

Obito looked at the boy on his back, but Harry just sort of blankly watched the gravel pass by under them. He could feel the other boy's tenseness, his shock and even the sour traces of sympathy and pity. Harry didn't want these things, not from the cheerful boy.

"You're coming to Konoha to live, then?" asked Obito. Harry merely nodded once, hoping he would be allowed to stay, but not knowing where else he could, or would go. He was quite sure that the Dursley's would not accept him back. Maybe Burumaru would let him sleep in Fuyu's closet –

"Great!"

Harry startled at the happy sound and stared at the boy. Obito was giving him a wide grin in return, and let go of one of his thighs in order to give him a thumbs-up. Surprised by this boy's easy acceptance of his presence, Harry smiled.

o-

Konoha wasn't quite like Harry expected. He had expected the red bridges, wide rivers, circular buildings with cone-like roofs and the sea that blended into the sky. He had expected the image from the picture.

Konoha, however, was a bit different. For one, it was much larger than Harry thought it would be, considering Ito had been calling it a village. It's buildings were a hodge-podge of structures, many with brightly colored shingling roofs, buried amidst a forest of towering trees that didn't quite hide either buildings, tall walls or the _mountain_ that the village backed up to.

It was the walls and gates that Harry met first. They towered over the small party in a strong statement of defense, shading the road and casting bright streams of sunlight over their heads from the sinking sun. The group passed through the gate with minimal resistance. The four guards eyed Harry with a mixing of suspicion and interest, but the blonde's quick words had them turning away. Harry slid off Obito's back, soaking in the sight of the village, and perhaps, his new home.

A firm hand on his shoulder turned his attention from the colorful and varied inhabitants to the tall blonde.

"Welcome to Konoha, Hari-kun."

The group left the teenaged attacker in the care of the gate guards and the white-haired youth, and Ito-san at the Hospital where Rin hovered with the others dressed in white frocks. The man gave Harry a small nod and pat on the head as he was taken away down the halls with the girl trailing them and listing off things Harry didn't quite understand. Harry waved and wondered if he would see the other man again.

"Now what, sensei?" Obito asked, his hands up over his head and looking up at the blonde with a grin.

"Now, you will help Hari find his family while I deliver the mission report," Minato said.

Obito looked dubiously down at Harry but quickly shrugged and wrapped a long arm around Harry's shoulders. Minato gave the two a bright smile and Harry let the taller boy pull him out of the Hospital and back into the warm sun.

It didn't take them long to find Kushina. Harry revealed his precious picture with its cheery yellow envelope from his pocket. Obito took one look at the envelope and exclaimed loudly at the picture and before Harry could puzzle out what he had said he was being dragged through the streets by his arm.

Harry scowled at the hold on his wrist, but got distracted by the sights around them, and Obito's incessant talking. Harry's Japanese had improved in leaps and bounds during his stay with Burumaru-san and his family, but the older boy leading him around by the hand talked faster than he walked, and Harry had a hard time catching more than a few words.

He didn't mind. The sheer variety of people and shops and buildings and – _was that man walking up the wall? – _Harry had never seen such things before, not even on Dudley's telly.

Obito stopped suddenly, sending Harry, whose attention had been just about anywhere but on his guide, crashing into him. Harry frowned at the taller boy's back. Then, he heard the sibilant voice of another. Harry peeked around Obito to its source, a tall, thin, long-armed man with dark hair that hung over his shoulders like limp spaghetti. His eyes were yellow, slit like a snake's, and as soon as Harry's head of wild hair made itself known those eyes were on him.

When he spoke, the man's voice was decidedly serpentine. "Who is this?"

Harry felt Obito shift, but he didn't remove his watchful gaze from the man.

"This is Hari," Obito said slowly, unsure. "He just got here. He's Kushina's cousin."

"Uzumaki Kushina's cousin?" the man asked, bending his body forward and closer to the two boys. "I didn't know any of her clan had survived their wars. How interesting that she's got family members. How fortuitous for her."

Harry didn't' know all the words the man spoke but he got the gist of it. He spoke strangely, spacing words apart in odd places, or at least Harry thought so. The scrunched look on Obito's face seemed to agree with him.

"We better get going, Orochimaru-sama," Obito finally said, edging Harry away from the lanky man. "We need to find Kushina and all."

"Of course," the said, smiling at them. It was a wide, strained sort of smile; a smile that Harry likened to the smile of promise-of-pain that he got every once in a while from Vernon. Harry didn't like it one bit.

"Come on, Hari-kun," Obito said, nudging him.

Harry didn't say a word, but kept a wary eye on the man even as Obito gripped his wrist and pushed him down the street away from him. Orochimaru watched them go the entire way until they rounded a corner that put them out of sight.

Harry determined that the man was creepier than Mrs. Figg and all her cats.

"Guy creeps my out," Obito said to no one in particular. He had taken to leading Harry by his leash again, pulling on his wrist as he stalked through the street. Harry had to trot to keep up with his longer legs and agitated pace. "He's a Sennin, Hari, so he's powerful. Really powerful. And creepy! And he comes and goes like a snake, he does. I don't like him much. I much prefer Jiraiya-sannin-sama better! He's much cooler, and can summon toads! I've met him once. He's Minato-sensei's sensei."

Harry had very little idea what the other boy was rambling about, but half-listened anyways, even as he kept glancing behind him. It felt like he was being watched, and not the nice way either. More like the way he felt when Dudley got it in his head to try his new game out: Harry Hunting.

Every time he turned around to look, or glanced over his shoulder he'd only see what they had already passed. Orochimaru was never in sight and that didn't really settle Harry's nerves any at all because he still felt like he was being watched.

"Oy, we're here!"

_'Here,'_ was a charming three story townhome butted up between like neighbors and painted a daffodil yellow. It was narrow and tall, with windows lining each of its stories. The third was taller, with a steeply slanted roof that drained all to one side into a narrow space between the house and its neighbor. A short picket fence wrapped around the front garden with fresh whitewash, and trampled tulips.

"Oh, that's Kakashi's fault," Obito said, pointing at the broken flower stalks Harry was inspecting. "He threw me clear cross the yard and straight into the flowers. Kushina was sooo mad! Sensei made us run laps for hooouuurs."

Harry looked up at the older boy, fascinated. "We still have to replant those, come to think of it," Obito continued, still staring at the trampled flowerbed.

"Come on," the older boy said, suddenly all cheer again. "I'll introduce you! Sensei knows Kushina, she's an amaaazing cook. Best onidori I've ever had, and that's saying something,"

Harry stopped trying to listen as he was led by his leash – arm – through the fenced front yard and up the stoop to the door. It was a tall door painted a dark grey color with a little round window of blue tinted glass.

It opened to reveal a woman, and it only took Harry a moment to recognize her as the girl from his picture, only grown.

She was tall and slender, but neither taller nor skinnier than Aunt Petunia, rather she was a really pretty sort of tall and slender with solid hips and shoulders and an oval face. Her hair cascaded around her in waves of glorious color. It was like a waterfall of red water. Harry had never seen so many shades of red before.

"Heya Kushina!" Obito greeted cheerfully, "This is Hari-kun, he's a relative of yours!"

Harry started and ducked his head, unwilling to watch should she reject him like Petunia had done. Obito didn't understand his sudden shyness.

"Oy, Hari, what's up with you?" But Harry didn't really hear him.

There was movement and the sound of cloth and suddenly her knees were on the ground at his feet and her red hair had curtained around her and brushed against his arm. Slender, calloused fingers touched his chin and lifted his head, but still Harry kept his eyes down.

Her voice, when she spoke, entranced him. "Will you look at me cousin?"

He obeyed, as much because she had asked as because she had claimed him as her cousin, as _family_. It was more than any of the Dursley's had ever done. The closest Petunia had come was to have said, "your mother," and "my sister" within a span of five minutes of each other. Never together. Never telling Harry he belonged with them, was accepted, was a part of them.

Harry found himself looking into mis-matched eyes. Her eyes were both blue and green, brilliant in color, like jewels that sparkled and were set in an oval face with wide cheekbones and a full mouth. She was smiling at him.

"You've come a long way, Hari-kun," she said, "and along a dangerous road. What were they thinking? I told them not to send you now."

He had the fleeting, real fear that she was about to send him back to England.

Her smile grew. "Well you made it," she said happily. "So you're stuck here now. I'm not sending you back out there in the middle of a war! It's far too dangerous to be wandering about outside of the village, the village is bad enough with all the weirdos running around. You'll just have to stay here with me from now on. Do you think you'll be alright with that, Hari-kun?"

All Harry could do was stare at her, too shocked and surprised and _happy_ to say or do anything for a long moment. She accepted him.

"Yes," he finally said, still unable to do much more than stare.

Kushina's smile, he decided, was more brilliant than her hair.

o-

**Author's Note:** I couldn't help myself, you see.


	27. Founders Four 01

**Author's Note:** A collection of shorts from Harry's time with the Founders. Based off my story _The Founders' Heir_. In no particular order, and there's no strong plotline. Maybe another time…

**Disclaimer:** They aren't mine, I swear. They're Rowling's, I'm sure of it. Go bug her about them. I'm just stealing them for a while.

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

**The Founders Four**

By Renatus

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

**Prelude Summary**

Harry has just gone through a rather intense battle with about a dozen Death Eaters in the middle of the Dursely residence. That particular scene is written fully in the first chapter of my story The Founders' Heir. This rather disjointed collection of shorts picks up directly after Harry disappears in a flurry of magic from number four Privet Drive. Again, I suggest reading The Founders' Heir prior to exploring this collection, but I reckon it's not strictly necessary.

**A Green Storm**

"Everard, pass!" a boy hollered across the pitch. The boy in question ignored the advice from his teammate, instead diving towards the ground with the quaffle tucked under his arm.

"Everard!" the boy hollered again.

"He's going to make us lose if he doesn't learn to pass the ball!" a girl floating next to him said.

"I know, Branwen."

"So do something about it, Gideon, you're the captain."

"Bloody hell." Gideon swore and dove after their teammate.

Everard had managed to avoid the other team's defense and had climbed back to a level height with the goal posts, but that was about as far as he would get. Gideon could tell, even from the other side of the pitch, that he was in trouble. The other team's beaters had him caught in a cross fire, and it was only a miracle that Everard was still on his broom.

"Gideon, what's up with him?" one of his beaters asked, pulling up next to him on his broom.

"He's being bloody stubborn and selfish, Albus, like always." Gideon snarled. He glanced over at the boy next him. "Where's your brother?"

Albus pointed back towards their goal posts. Gideon followed the direction and groaned. Aberforth, his second beater, was floating around their keeper's broom, flirting.

"Can't you keep a leash on him or something?" Gideon asked.

Albus shrugged. "You're the captain."

"He's your brother!"

Albus just sent him a smile. "So he is."

Gideon narrowed his eyes at the boy, irked at his attitude.

"Everard is in trouble." Albus said, pointing his attention towards his wayward chaser.

"Bloody hell." Gideon swore again, and dived away from Albus towards the other end of the field.

He could tell the moment that Everard caught on to the trouble he was in, as he suddenly spiraled straight up into the sky, barely avoiding two well-aimed bludgers. Gideon barreled through two chasers, trying to get his teammate's attention.

"Everard!" Gideon yelled up at him.

Everard turned out of his upward spiral, looking around him almost frantically. Gideon eyed him from his position some twenty meters below him, not entirely positive that his teammate would see him and pass the ball. For all his attention to the game and his team, Gideon's eyes looked past his chaser to the sky above him. Dark clouds suddenly covered the sky, menacing in their speed as they spiraled to a center above the pitch, covering the clear sky they had only moments ago.

"Everard, dive!" Gideon yelled frantically, waving his teammate to the ground.

By some miracle Everard obeyed him, laying low over his broom and diving toward the pitch.

It was none too soon.

A wild bolt of lightning struck out of the center of the spiraling clouds, crackling through the air as it bolted into the ground. Gideon fancied he could feel the heat of it as it passed not far from him. A second later he heard and felt the thunder. It rattled his bones and he could feel it through his broom.

"Everyone to the ground!" he yelled, diving towards the edge of the pitch himself.

A second bolt of lightning streaked down from the sky. Gideon saw the flash out of the corner of his eye, slightly amazed that it hadn't struck any of the brooms yet. He landed hard, stumbling under the force of his dive. A third flash lit up the area, striking the center of the pitch and sending grass and dirt flying.

Gideon looked around for his team, and the other students. All of them had made it to the ground, and were watching the strange storm with a mixture of expressions.

"We should get one of the Founders!" Branwen yelled in his ear. Gideon nodded, flinching slightly as another bolt of lightning struck the field. He turned towards the castle, but froze as a thought occurred to him.

Each bolt of lightning was hitting the same spot.

He turned back to the pitch, watching the charred mark on the ground intently. Indeed, a moment later lightning struck, sending another round of dirt and stones up into the air.

"It's hitting the same spot." Albus' voice said next to his shoulder.

"That's impossible." Branwen said.

Another flash of lightning struck, but Gideon noticed that they were beginning to change. No longer were they the bright flash of white-hot light. Instead each strike became colder and carried a greenish coloration.

"The Founders are here!" one of the other students yelled.

Gideon looked around, noticing the four Founders stream onto the field.

"Keep your distance!" Godric's deep voice boomed over the pitch. The students pressed themselves farther back along the edges of the field, as much from the order as from the changing nature of the storm before them. The students at Hogwarts were used to such odd displays of magic and power and rare skills, but the storm that invaded the grounds of the school that evening was beyond any of their collective experiences.

There was a pause as the Founders circled the center of the pitch, placing themselves at four even points surrounding the charred mark. There was a lull, and an eerie silence fell over the area. Gideon could hear his own heart pounding in the quiet.

Then it started again, but instead of the lightning striking from the clouds, it came out of the ground. Great arcs of it, flashing up over the field and into the stands and surrounding grounds. Lightning streamed across the sky, connecting ground and clouds with the green tinged bolts. A wide arc flashed out of the ground, streaming across the pitch and writhing along the edges of the stands like some great snake. The students watched it warily, fully aware that it was uncontrolled and likely dangerous.

"Don't let it touch you!" Gideon yelled, seeing the glowing green trails the arcs left in their wake. The other students crowded away from it, many working their way towards the stadium entrances. Gideon turned his attention back to the center of the pitch, keeping half an eye out for the random arcs of green lightning.

The epicenter of the storm had changed. Great streams of lightning arced between the clouds and the ground, while wild arms of fire flashed from the charred pitch in the center of the Founders. The fire was as green as the strange lightning. Gideon was sure then that the storm was completely magical.

That's when he heard the scream.

It was faint at first, as if from a great distance, but it rose in pitch and volume as the strength of the magical storm intensified. The lightning struck harder, and the flames rose higher, and Gideon winced at the scream that never stopped. Instead it pulsed, as if controlled by the very magic running amuck around him.

As suddenly as the storm had come, it was gone.

Gideon blinked rapidly in the sudden quiet, dim light of the evening. The lightning and fire were gone, leaving behind only faint traces of their existence. The dark, spiraling clouds slowed and began to fade, revealing the clear sky beyond them.

In the center of the four Founders, where the lightning had struck, and the fire sprang from, lay a figure.

Gideon approached the area slowly, still wary of the display of raw magic. The Founders gathered around him, Helga already inspecting the boy with her wand, ready for healing.

"Gideon," Helga beckoned, spotting him.

He approached quickly, then, stopping next to her kneeling form.

"Mistress," he said, eyeing the figure below him. She didn't answer him, intent on her examination of the new arrival.

The figure was a boy, young and scrawny and thin. His black hair was matted and clung to his forehead. Red blood streamed from his face, though Gideon couldn't pinpoint if it was from one wound or many. A deep gash ran along his ribs and side, streaming a thick blood onto the pitch. Gideon winced, knowing that it was deep and likely very painful. Scratches scattered his forearms and one of his shoulders; a reflection of light revealed that pieces of glass were imbedded in many of them, as if he had jumped through a glass pane.

The boy shifted, groaning weakly, and Gideon caught sight of bright green eyes before they closed again. He shivered slightly. The green of the boy's eyes was the same green as the lightning and fire that had left its mark on the pitch.

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

**Meetings and Greetings**

Harry woke to the bright light and sterile smell of the Infirmary; something that he had extensive experience with. He groaned and curled over on his side, pulling the blankets up over his head. Now that the light wasn't giving him such a headache he could concentrate on what happened to land him there in the first place.

Foggy memories of his summer at the Dursley's flitted past his consciousness; from Vernon's annual start of summer lecture to Petunia's constant praise of Dudley's boxing achievements. Never mind that Dudley nearly failed his classes and spent more time beating up kids than he did opponents in a ring.

The attack suddenly found its way through his hazy mind and he sat upright, eyes wide, as the memory played itself out in his head.

The sudden motion apparently didn't agree with him as his head began to spin. He groaned and let himself fall back to the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes.

The Dursley's were dead. Harry had little love for them, but they were his family, and they had died because of that; because of him. A tear escaped and slid past his temple. Too many have died because they were close to him; his parents, Cedric, Sirius and now the Durselys.

Harry slammed his fist into the bed, forcing his melancholy thoughts away. He was not going to wallow in self pity, not when he had a self proclaimed Dark Lord to take it all out on. He sat up again, this time slower, allowing his head to get used to the new position.

From what he could tell it was sometime in the early afternoon, but late enough for the sun to shine directly through the windows. The Infirmary was empty, and there were no noises coming from Pomfrey's office. Harry looked around for his wand and glasses, at which point he realized that neither were present, and he could see fine. Double checking his face for his glasses to no avail, Harry concluded that someone must have corrected his vision. He briefly wondered why they didn't do so years ago. Now he only had to locate his wand and slip out before the Medi-Witch tied him to the bed for the next three days.

He barely touched his feet to the floor when she came bustling in. Only, this wasn't Madame Pomfrey.

"Oh no you don't, young man!" the little blonde haired witch said, "You aren't going anywhere until I'm through with you."

Harry let her push him back onto the bed and putter around him before speaking.

"Um, where is Madame Pomfrey?"

This caused the petite witch to stop her muttering about irresponsible boys and look at him.

"Who dear?"

"Madame Pomfrey, the Medi-Witch?"

"Oh, sorry honey, she's not here right now."

"Oh." Harry was really confused. He didn't remember ever being in the Hospital Wing without Pomfrey.

"Where is she? Is she alright?"

"I'm sure she's fine, dear!"

"Alright." Harry watched the woman mutter spells over him for a moment. She was one of the smallest people he had ever seen. If it weren't for her older facial features he would have sworn she was a student. The woman was just petite!

"If you don't mind me asking, who are you?" Harry asked. The woman stopped her spellwork, which caused the myriad lights hovering over Harry to dissipate.

"I'm Helga Hufflepuff." Harry just stared. He had heard of people claiming to be descendants of the founders, Tom Riddle jumped to mind rather quickly, but saying you _are_ the founder wasn't something he had encountered before. His shock caused him to be sarcastic.

"Oh sure," he said, waving his hand nonchalantly, "and I'm Godric Gryffindor."

"No, you're not," a new voice joined in, "but you are his heir."

Harry turned skeptical eyes towards the doorway and nearly jumped out of his skin. A middle aged, black haired wizard stood in the doorway, his face nearly blank except for the bemused look in his eyes. Harry had never seen him before, but he would know that face anywhere, even without the flowing beard that he remembered. This man looked like a replica, albeit a young one, of the statue in the Chamber of Secrets. He looked just like Salazar Slytherin.

Harry tore his eyes away from the man and eyed the little witch next to his bed. Now that he looked at her, she did look remarkably similar to the little old witch depicted in Hermione's 'Hogwarts, A History', which he finally got around to reading this past summer.

He was just too tired to try to argue how absolutely barmy this whole deal was.

He looked back to Slytherin, who was smirking at him. Harry was strongly reminded of Snape.

"So, um, how did I get here?"

"We brought you here." Helga said. Harry looked at her.

"Why?"

"Because you are an Heir." She said as if that explained everything.

"Right." Harry was completely lost. Why would the Founders cart him around through time? And what exactly was he an heir of? Harry eyed Slytherin, who had yet to move or speak again.

"An heir of what?"

"Gryffindor." Helga said.

"Lovely." Harry said, and plopped back onto the bed. This was just too much and he was exhausted. He threw an arm over his eyes again and commenced to mumbling about the unjustness of his life.

"Actually, you are also a possible recipient of Slytherin's inheritance as well." Helga's voice interrupted his tirade.

Harry momentarily lifted his arm and eyed the little witch.

"Oh, that's just absolutely wonderful. I'm going to go to sleep now, ok."

"Of course dear!" Helga immediately entered her medical role, which comforted Harry greatly, as it was something familiar to him, even if it wasn't Pomfrey. "You depleted your magical stores immensely. You'll feel tired for a few days yet." The witch said, tucking the blankets around him, "We'll answer your questions when you're ready to get up and about. Sleep well."

And Harry did.

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

**Never Easy**

Harry walked gingerly, part of his weight supported by the slender cane at his side. He winced slightly as he made his way down the stairs, careful to make sure that his footing was sure before moving on to the next step. He didn't need to take a tumble down the main stairwell of Hogwarts.

"Hey, mate, how're ya doin?" a voice hollered from above him. Harry paused, resting his free hand on the rail beside him as he looked back up the stairwell for the source of the voice. A sandy haired boy skipped down the stairs behind him, a smile beaming across his face. Harry curled his lip slightly at the ease at which the boy was able move his own legs.

"I'm Gideon." The boy said, coming to a stop next to him and thrusting his hand out in greeting. Harry blinked at him a moment, a bit taken off guard at the boy's exuberance before taking the hand in a firm shake.

"I'm Darion." Harry introduced himself with his new name. It felt slightly alien to his lips, but rolled off his tongue without much of a hitch. He was going to have to get used to it. He would be using it for a while.

"You had a rough arrival." Gideon said, eyeing him a bit critically, "but you seem to be gettin' along well 'nough." Harry nodded, not quite used to the boy's accent and quick words. He spoke rapidly, and with a heavy accent that Harry didn't recognize.

"Yeah, I'm alright." Harry grimaced slightly, knocking the cane in his hand against his bound leg lightly, "At least I will be."

"Ya, Helga will take good care of ya, she always does."

"She'll take care of me alright," he said a bit wryly, "probably boil me alive for sneaking out of the Infirmary on her."

Gideon stared at him a moment before bursting into laughter. "You're right she will." He said between breaths of laughter, "ya better watch yourself for a while, she'll be after ya for sure."

"Nah, I'm used to it."

Gideon continued to laugh, and Harry just watched him, a smile on his face as well. The boy reminded him of his friends from Griffindor tower. Gideon had the look of Seamus about him, but with Ron's infectious laugh and Dean's sense of humor. The boy before him sobered after a moment, and looked at him, his eyes taking in the thin bandages on his face and the brace around his leg. Harry shifted slightly under the scrutiny, but didn't look away from him.

"What happened to you?" Gideon asked softly. Harry blinked at the lessoning of the boy's strong accent. "I mean before you arrived, you looked a mess."

Harry looked away, remembering what had happened and how he had come to get the wounds he was now bearing. He had managed not to think about the Dursley's for most of the morning, but he should have known that it wouldn't last.

He still felt responsible.

"Hey look, ya don't have to tell me, if ya don't want to, I was just curious." Gideon babbled next to him, "It's not a big deal or anything, I won't…"

"No, it's alright." Harry cut the boy's rant off, looking back to him. "It was dark wizards, about twelve of them. They killed my relatives."

Gideon reeled back slightly at his words, his eyes growing wider in his surprise. "That's…I'm sorry."

Harry shrugged, "It's alright."

"No it's not."

Harry blinked in surprise, staring at the boy next to him.

"They were your family."

Harry smiled at that a bit. "Yeah, I guess so."

"So they…the dark wizards…" Gideon paused, his eyes flickering over the bandages on Harry's face.

"Yeah." Harry said, decided to give the guy a bit of a break, "They didn't like me much."

Gideon nodded. "Helga couldn't heal them all right away?"

Harry shook his head, eyeing the cane he held loosely in his hand. "The Cruciatus curse caused some of my bones to snap, and they don't heal overnight. One in my leg, and two of my ribs."

"The Cruciatus…" Gideon said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah."

They were silent for a moment, Harry trying to decide what to say to the guy next to him while his mind was playing scenes from the Death Eater attack in his mind. He hadn't realized that his leg had broken under the strain of the curse as well has his ribs. It was possible that it had broken during the backlash of his magic, rather than during the actual application of the spell. The Cruciatus had simply weakened the bone, putting pressure and strain on them that they weren't used to.

"Well, lunch is bein' served in the Great Hall," Gideon suddenly piped up, "I'll walk ya there, make sure ya don't take a tumble down the stairs and all."

Harry looked up at the guy with a small grin, glad for the change in topic. "If I had my broom I would just fly around the halls."

"Ya, and Ravenclaw would have your hide if she ever caught ya doin' anything but walkin' through her halls."

"You are correct, Mister Gervaise, I would." A woman's voice came from above them. Harry turned gingerly on the stair, taking in the form of red haired woman on the landing above them. Beside him, Gideon gave a slight bow and a mumbled 'Mistress Ravenclaw'.

Harry barely heard him.

The woman, who apparently was the Founder Rowena Ravenclaw, reminded him of his mother. He wasn't sure if it was just the association with the long red hair, of it was more than that, but he couldn't help but be reminded of his mother's face when he looked at her.

"And your name?" she asked, looking straight into his eyes. Harry knew that she knew who he really was, but she wasn't present when he had received his new name, the one he would carry during his time with the Founders.

"Uh, Darion Elddir." He said, still fighting the lingering image of a mother he had never met.

Rowena nodded, "A pleasure to see that you are healthy enough to walk about, Mister Elddir."

Harry swallowed heavily, and a bit nervously, realizing that she knew darn well that he wasn't supposed to be out of the Infirmary yet.

"I was going to walk him down to lunch, Mistress." Gideon said. Harry noticed that his accent had faded again.

"Thank you, Mister Gervaise, but we must find our new arrival a wand before he is thrust into the population of this school."

Gideon nodded and made another small bow to her before turning to him.

"It was a pleasure, Darion." He said, "If you need anything, just let me know."

Harry nodded as the boy turned and continued his way down the stairs. Harry was slightly confused at the quick retreat, but figured that Gideon had realized that Rowena didn't really want him around, for whatever reason. Harry turned his attention back to the red-haired Founder, and jumped.

She had come up behind him during their exchange, and he hadn't even heard her move.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, a small smirk on her face at his response.

Harry scowled slightly at her, but answered politely. "I'm fine."

"Helga would say otherwise."

"I don't much care for medi-witches." Harry said, then realized that he had likely just insulted a Founder. "Uh, I mean I don't like medicine, or rather infirmaries…" He was floundering and he knew it. He heaved a sigh, eyeing the way that Gideon had gone a bit forlornly. "I just spend too much time in them."

"I understand."

Harry blinked and turned back to her, unsure that she was serious or just saying the words to make him feel less like an idiot. He wasn't entirely sure of her motive, but he found sincerity in her dark eyes. He let out a small sigh, and smiled slightly, relieved that she hadn't taken offense to his hasty words.

"Since you insist on being on your feet, it is time to go get your wand." She said, eyeing him as if sizing him up for the task. Harry wasn't sure that he liked the slight gleam in her eye or not.

"What happened to my wand?" he asked.

"It was likely destroyed in the backlash of your magic."

Harry winced at that. He had grown found of his wand, but it wasn't just the familiarity that caused him to regret the loss. That wand was one of his greatest defenses against Voldemort, not that he really counted on the wands connecting again, or that he would win the struggle again, but it reassured him nonetheless. But he no longer had his wand to fall back on.

"We have a Wandmaker that comes to the school for our students." Rowena said, "He is ready for you downstairs."

Harry nodded and turned around to face the task of making his way down the stairs again. The Lady Founder behind him said nothing else, but he could feel her presence just off his left shoulder, as if watching him and waiting for him to stumble. He rather thought she was. He didn't try to hurry, despite his desire to skip down the stairs as he usually did. His leg wouldn't be able to handle such activities, however. A cracked shin bone and jumping half a flight down a stairwell didn't mix well.

The going was slow, but he kept a steady pace, and didn't feel like he was being obvious about his injuries or his pain. He was used to hiding slight aches and pains. They made it to the main floor without a word, and at what Harry thought was a pretty good time, considering his condition.

"This way, Mister Elddir." Rowena said, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. He turned to follow her, noticing that she paced herself to his much slower gate without any fanfare. He was thankful to her for not saying anything or forcing him back to bed rest and a hovering medi-witch.

She led him to one of the classrooms on the main floor, one that Harry had never been in before. In his time most of the classes had been held on various other floors of the castle.

"Mr. Elddir, this is Ambrosi Ollivander, a Master Wand Crafter." Ravenclaw said. Harry gave a nod to the elder man, thinking that he saw no striking resemblance between him and the creepy Ollivander he had met his first time in Diagon Alley.

"Mr. Elddir, is it." The man said, peering at him with bright blue eyes. Harry leaned back slightly at the close proximity, a bit unnerved with Ollivander's unblinking scrutiny. Harry got the feeling that the man knew darn well that 'Elddir' wasn't his real name. "And you are in need of a wand."

Harry nodded, unsure how to respond to the man and feeling like he rather wasn't expected to.

"What sort of wand did you carry before?" Ollivander asked, looking him in the eye.

"Uh, Holly and Phoenix feather." Harry said.

"What happened to it?"

"It's gone."

"Clearly."

Harry blinked, getting a conflicting set of comparisons for the man. On one hand Harry expected a repeat of his only other time with a Wandmaker; yet the man showed no signs of following that course, and indeed, had already deviated from it.

"Did you merely lose it, Mister 'Elddir', or is it gone for a…specific reason?"

On the other hand, Harry couldn't help but to compare the man's personality to that of Snape's.

"It was destroyed." Harry said a bit shortly.

"By what?"

Harry paused, the answer to the question still stirring conflicting emotions in him. "By my magic." Harry said, meeting the man's eyes, albeit slightly unsteady.

"Indeed." Ollivander peered at him a moment more before turning to the Lady Founder beside him. "Can he keep it in check?"

"We've placed a temporary block on him until he relearns control." Rowena said neutrally.

"And you are aware of the blocks' effects when handling incompatible wands?"

"I trust your judgment and expertise will avail us of any unwanted mishaps, Ambrosi."

"Indeed." Ollivander turned a sharp gaze back to him. "Indeed."

Harry was slightly taken aback by the man, but figured he kind of had to put some faith and trust in the Lady next to him. Besides, he could hardly do much without a wand, and he was itching to have his back in his hand again. He had grown accustomed to having it nearby.

But he wasn't entirely sure about Ollivander's words on incompatible wands.

"Have I missed anything?" a deep voice boomed from the doorway. Harry jumped slightly at the unexpected noise, turning to take in the new arrival. Godric Gryffindor stood framed by the doorway, his tall, thick frame filling the narrower door. He beamed out at them from behind a bushy beard. Harry swore that the man's blue eyes were twinkling.

"Can't miss a good wand-finding now can I?" Godric said, entering the room. He stopped next to Harry and laid a hand on his shoulder heavily. Harry shifted his feet in order to keep his balance from the weight. "You sure you're up to this, lad?"

Harry nodded, hiding his grimace at the pain in his leg from the added weight.

"Oh good!" Godric said, giving him a final clap on the back before walking away. Harry nearly toppled from the action, and only the cane in his hand prevented his nose from being acquainted with the floor. Harry corrected his initial comparison of the man to Dumbledore; instead finding the burly Founder to be eerily similar to Hagrid.

Ollivander scowled at the man as Godric settled his frame against a table. Harry got the feeling that the creepy wandmaker didn't much care for the brown-haired Godric Gryffindor.

"Very well then." Ollivander harrumphed, pulling a medium sized trunk from under a table and placing it carefully on top. Harry curved his neck around a little, trying to see into the trunk as the man pulled open the lid. "Holly…and phoenix feather…" the man mumbled, managing to root around delicately. "protection…drives away evil…" the man continued as he seemed to pull something from the depths of a space that was far larger than the actual size of the trunk.

Ollivander paused, his hand and arm still disappearing into a bottomless trunk, and stared intently at Harry. Harry shifted, pulling his head back around and trying not to look like a kid caught with a hand in a cookie jar.

"No…that wouldn't do." Ollivander said finally, returning his attention back to his trunk. Harry blinked and scowled, feeling as if he had been nearly insulted by the man's tone and not having a clue as to why.

"Here, then." Ollivander said, pulling his full arm out of the trunk and turning to face him. He held reddish tinted wand balanced over his fingertips. Harry eyed it a bit critically. He knew that Holly was a warm wood, but the deep crimson of the wand in the man's hand was far too red to be the familiar wood.

"Well?" Ollivander said, his tone becoming stern at his hesitation.

Harry sighed and reached out to take the red wood wand from the man's hand. Ollivander pulled it back just out of his reach, though, and Harry narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Seven and a quarter inches Redwood, with a core of Pheonix feather. Solid and slightly flexible, particularly good for…firey magic."

Harry blinked, and reached again for the wand, which wasn't denied him a second time. He glanced at the wandmaker for a second before waving the wand in a lazy arc, not feeling anything but the usual distant tingle that most wands gave him. The Redwood sputtered out a few red and orange sparks, but was hardly the light show that his old Holly wand had given him.

"No." Ollivander said shortly and pulled the wand from his hand. Harry sighed, feeling as if the search for his second wand would be just as long and tedious as the first.

"Not a wand suited for you." The wandmaker continued, "but perhaps suited for _you_." Harry glanced in the direction the man was looking, seeing Gryffindor quirk a grin in response.

"I've got a Redwood already, Wandmaster." Godric said.

"Yes, yes of course." Ollivander said, returning the fiery wand to the confines of his trunk. Harry raised his eyebrows at the exchange, not entirely understanding it, but getting the distinct feeling that the two men didn't terribly care for each other. Or at least had had a recent altercation, most likely over a wand.

"Here, lad."

Harry blinked and turned to see Ollivander back before him with another wand. Harry sighed slightly, picking the plain brown wood from the man's outstretched fingers. He generally ignored whatever type of wand it was, as it barely spitted a few yellow sparks before it was taken from him again.

"No…not at all." Ollivander mumbled, digging down into the depths of his trunk. Harry eyed the man a bit warily as a full arm disappeared, along with half his head. "Perhaps…it would…" He mumbled, his voice barely audible from the trunk, "opposite of dark…life…and the brother…" The man pulled back from the trunk, another wand in hand. He eyed Harry and nodded slightly, offering the wand.

Harry eyed the pale wood curiously, not having seen a wand of its color before.

"Pale Ebony." Ollivander said, picking up on his curiosity. "Eight and a half inches long, this is a stiff wand, with a lot of raw power."

Harry picked the wand up, still eyeing the different coloration of the wood.

"Well give it a wave!"

Harry started and glanced at the man, suddenly seeing a distinct relation to the two Ollivanders he had met, and waved the wand in his hand before him. The pale wand emitted a light shower of dusky blue and white-yellow sparks. Harry stared at the fading lights.

"What's the core?" he asked.

"A feather." Ollivander stated. "From a Thunderbird."

"Thunderbird?"

"Aye, a distant relation to the Phoenix, thought quite different at heart." The wandmaker said, eyeing him and the wand. "But not quite what we're looking for. Most intriguing, Mister Elddir, intriguing indeed." He turned around and began rooting in his trunk again, though with a decidedly more energetic air and mumbling under his breath.

Harry turned to eye the two Founders, having nearly forgotten that they were there. The two had been very quiet, seemingly to be perfectly content to watch the proceedings without comment.

"Ah, here it is." Ollivander said near gleefully, bringing Harry's attention back to the old man and his wands. "It's brother, to the most point."

Ollivander offered a second pale wood wand to him, though Harry seemed to see some difference between the two, though he couldn't quite tell what.

"Pale Ebony." The man said, holding the wand atop the ends of his fingers, "The same as the first, though with the core of a Phoenix's feather."

Harry nodded, and took the wand from the man's fingers.

There was a moment where he felt the warmth that his old Holly wand gave him before the warmth faded and was replaced by a crackling pain. He stared down at the two wands he held, the first loosely in his left and the second firmly with his right.

He vaguely heard the yells of the Founders over the increasing roar of the wands, as they spit out angry sparks of white-hot yellow and burning orange. He tried to drop the wands searing his palms, but he couldn't get his hands to obey. The burn seared up his arms, crackling white on one side, with burning orange on the other. He stared, transfixed and horrified as the violent reaction of the wands intensified.

And suddenly, the wands exploded.

Harry twisted his head away from the flying fragments of pale wood, unable to drop the wands and cover his face, instinctively holding his hands as far from himself as he could. He fleetingly hoped that his eyes would be spared from the onslaught. His eyesight was bad enough.

The slivers of wand-wood were accompanied by a shower of hot magic and a blinding flash of light. Harry shut his eyes tighter, though it didn't block out the light, nor the pain and burning of the magic.

His last thought as darkness replaced light was that he never had it easy.

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

**Issues of Respect**

"You are a Founders' Heir, and as such, you will follow the rules laid out for _all_ the Heirs."

Harry raised an eyebrow and felt his scowl deepen, not that the dark-haired Founder of Snakes behind him could see it.

"I will not." Harry said tightly.

"There are customs and traditions centuries old," Slytherin continued, his smooth voice rolling through the room. "And common respects that are expected to be paid!"

"Not much of a show of respect if I'm forced, now is it?" Harry snapped, his anger growing as the lecture continued into its second hour. He eyed the door with a mixture of frustration and longing. He had little chance of breaking through the Founder's locking spells. He hadn't even recognized three of the six spells Slytherin had covered the door with.

"We are Masters of this Castle," the Snake continued, his tone growing sharper, "And you are here by our grace alone. You will treat us with the respect our stations grant us, or you'll be sent home!"

"Good!" Harry snarled, turning on the man stalking the room behind him. "I had no desire to be brought here anyways! Nobody asked me for my permission before hauling me a thousand years into the past! I don't _want_ to be here!"

"You should be grateful," Slytherin started, but Harry cut him off.

"You sound just like my uncle." He said, darkly vicious. The Slytherin Founder had been pushing him all day, and an hour of unwarranted lecturing had raised his ire more than Snape's snide remarks ever had.

He was pissed.

Slytherin narrowed his eyes at him, no doubt recognizing the statement as the insult that Harry meant it as. All of the Founders had heard a basic version of his life's story, and they all knew the gist of the Dursleys' feelings for him, and his for them.

Slytherin glowered, and Harry knew he had managed to strike a nerve. A rather tender one, if the man's darkly glinting eyes were anything to go by. Harry nearly smirked, but was still too anger to make his face do anything but glare and sneer.

"Get out." The man hissed.

Harry glared at the man, his anger and magic stirring more at the nearly Parsletongue speech. He turned sharply on his heel, his cane banging angrily on the stone, and jerked the door open.

"Yes, _-Master-_." he sneered, turning Slytherin's desired 'respect' into a harsh, sarcastic insult.

Before the Founder could reply Harry limped out the door and slammed it behind him. The loud bang echoed up and down the corridor, joined by the sharp sound of his cane as he stalked away from the room.

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo

_Mid to Late Year 1 (of 5, btw)_

**The Redwood Wand**

"No," Harry said, trying to keep the exasperation from leaking into his voice.

"What!" Godric bellowed, "You don't know how to cast Fiory Incendius?"

Harry just swiveled his head around to look at the Founder with a raised brow.

"If I hadn't even _heard_ of the full string of fire spells that come before it, then how would I know how to cast the final spell of the family?" He tried to keep the sarcasm out, he really did, but he knew that a good deal of that particular emotion showed through.

Godric stared – gaped at him.

Harry raised his other eyebrow.

"It's in outrage!" the man's booming voice rattled the windows of the narrow tower. Harry eyed the shaky glass set into the windowsill he was perched on. He was beginning to wonder how long it would last before shattering at the man's voice.

"Never even heard of the Fiory Spell Family," Godric muttered in complaint, "Can't even cast Fiory Incendius." He ceased stomping around the room to stare at him incredulously. Harry barely blinked. "What sort of rubbish are they teaching you!"

Harry threw an itching hex at him.

He vaguely acknowledged that the brown-orange light hit its mark. He grimaced slightly at the slight burn along his palm the spell left in its wake. His scars itched from the use of magic, leaving behind a vaguely tingly feeling that was something like a limb falling asleep. At least he wasn't shooting sparks around every time he moved his hands any more. He didn't think the Dumbledores were ever going to stop laughing.

"I see your point." Godric said, scratching his chin through his thick beard. "Do you know any spells remotely related to the Fiory Family?"

Harry eyed the man speculatively, wondering if he'd be able to get away with casting the Incendio charm at the man as easily as the itching hex. He thought it rather unlikely.

He cast it on the chair next to the Founder, instead. He managed not to wince at the foreign feel of the spell passing through his palm, but couldn't help but shake his hand a bit at the sensation. The spell set the fabric cushion of the seat afire with yellow-white flames, and it quickly spread, consuming the largely wooden chair.

Godric watched the destruction next to him blankly, not moving to step away from the heat of the flames. They were silent as the fire burned the chair down to a charred skeleton and small pile of ashes.

Harry eyed the sad remains of the chair smoking despondently on the carpet. He blinked at Godric, then let his head lean against the glass of the window while he waited for the Founder.

"That," Godric began, still staring at the remains of the chair, "is nothing like Fiory."

Harry sighed and drowned out Godric's explanation about the full effects of the Fiory spell.

oooOoooOoooOoooOoooOooo


	28. Bread and Spectacle 01

Bread and Spectacle  
**Summary**: _He_ won and the people cowed. But that was only the distant beginning of the rise of the New Ministry, the lockdown of their world, and the triannual Wizard's Games. And when Little Lily's name is drawn from the Goblet, Albus Severus Potter will volunteer to take her place. Rather AU. Mostly Next-Gen.  
**Disclaimer**: All usual fan-fiction disclaimers apply.

Author's Note: This is Harry Potter fan-fiction. In no direct way is it a piece of fan work for the Hunger Games. It is not a cross-over. That said, this is highly inspired by the Hunger Games, which will be blatantly obvious. If you are expecting to see the myriad characters of Panem you will be disappointed. This is a Harry Potter fan-fiction.

oOo

**Bread and Spectacle**  
By: Renatus

_"… Already long ago, from when we sold our vote to no man, the People have abdicated our duties; for the People who once upon a time handed out military command, high civil office, legions — everything, now restrains itself and anxiously hopes for just two things: bread and circuses." (Juvenal, Satire 10.77–81)_

The death of their mother was a quiet and solemn affair. The three gathered around her bed in those days, shutting the house up tight, whispering in the flickering light of precious candles. James would not leave, his shoulders hunched and curled as he sat on the side of the bed, his hand wrapped tightly around their mum's. He was tight-lipped and quiet, his grief turning to anger in sudden flashes only to die as quickly.

Little Lily was equally distraught, though showed her grief through tears, curling up under the bedsheets next to their mother's side, clutching at her even as their mum's arms could barely move to wrap around her daughter. Sometimes, Lily would hum the lullabies that their mother once sung.

Albus sat silently throughout it all. Watching, waiting for the inevitable. Wishing.

In the early mornings, when James' anger wore thin and Lily's tears dried and they slept, Albus slipped out of the house into the chilly air. Dew clung to the grass and the overgrown holly and the towering yews that lined the house's property line. Albus would stalk along the humming Barrier in the shade of the tall pines, picking through the fallen needles and the thin underbrush and when he reached the worn, dulled granite monolith that marked the property's North-West corner, he would duck under the sweeping branches of the yews and cross the Barrier ward into the forest that stretched beyond.

He felt the Barrier's magic tingle across his skin, clinging and stretching like a spider's web that would not break. But then he would slip through and the wards would go back to their place, humming against the disturbance. They had never broken, nor as far as he knew, sent any kind of alarm or notice. His father had shown him the spot long ago, the spot where the Barrier was thin and stretched which made it easy to slip through without breaking the ward structure.

"Slowly, Al," he would say, drawing Albus through the sticky ward by the hand, "Don't fight it or force it, just slip through like water through a sieve. Yes, just like that."

And then the forest would stretch before them, wild and free.

There, in the rambling forest of pine and beech and maple he would run on quiet feet along trails made by deer or fox. His father had shown him the forest, shown him the trails and taught him how to gather and how to run.

The forest was large, and sprawled across the hills to the north and west and even stretched down into the southern areas of the house where they lived. His mother said it was magical, but Albus had never really seen anything particularly magical in that forest.

It did offer him privacy that the house in its village did not. It offered him shelter against the wards that encircled them all and shut them in. It gave him somewhere to run.

It also gave him access to the forest's bounty. In the chilly air of late summer, the forest was alive with the preparations for winter. It was also full of useful herbs and plants. He gathered once his run tired him enough to walk and look around him. Foxglove here, clovers in the clearing near the stream, Genie's Geraniums clinging to the rocks under a great sprawling oak - "good for potions," his father would say - and a patch of lemongrass and wild onions that his mother would add to stew.

He swung by a wild apple tree on his way back, stuffing the last of his coat's pockets with the little tart fruits. They were just shy of fully ripe and he would have to return to collect more so they could dry them for storage before they fell.

Exhausted by his run, and made hungry by it as well, Albus slunk back through the wards and into the little village of Ottery St. Catchpole, of which his house and its ward structure was a part. Most of his family still slept but James was awake and Albus lured him from the house with the apples.

The two munched through two apples a piece as they walked down the lane past the house and into the village. Silent and solemn, which was strange for James and only partially so for Albus.

Ottery St. Catchpole was not very large, and it was entirely magical. Its little collection of houses and shops were arranged along two intersecting lanes and did not cover much area, though the outer houses did all have some property to them. His mother said that the house they lived in once held the lands that included much of the forest he so loved, but after the New Ministry erected the Barriers, the house's lands were cut back. The Barriers could not contain quite so much land without loosing their effectiveness.

They found the apothecary to be quiet, tended by the old Mr. Ricketts whose eyes were so cloudy that Albus always thought the man to be blind. He took the Foxglove, clovers and brilliantly colored geraniums from Albus with a hum and a nod. Without a word, Mr. Ricketts passed over five sickles and one slightly tarnished galleon. Albus pocketed the money with a murmured thanks and left the dimly lit shop as quickly as he had entered it. James was not fond of the place and Mr. Ricketts was more senile than some days.

Armed with gold, they swung by the market for milk and butter and three loaves of still hot fresh bread. With some sickles still left over Albus purchased a jar of sweet honey to try and cheer Little Lily up a bit. She liked honey on her bread.

So did Albus, really. Old Madam Biddle called them from her kitchen window, asking after their mother. This set James into stoic anger which didn't really mask his grief and worry, not to Albus. His brother didn't reply to the old widow and stalked down the lane, kicking up dust. Albus shrugged and waved at the lady and hurried after him, not particularly wanting to converse with Old Madam Biddle anyways.

"James," Albus started, catching up to the taller teen. Albus just barely reached the boy's shoulders, and that was stretching things a bit, and including his wild hair which tended to add a few superficial centimeters.

"Not now Al," James said shortly. Albus frowned and made a face but didn't push his brother. Albus knew he worried. Too much.

They returned to the house in silence.

oOo

It was in the darkness of the night, just before dawn that Albus saw Him.

Albus did not know how he entered the house, but from his hunched position in the chair next to his mother's bed, he saw the man's shape sit on the edge of the bed. As he watched, breath held, the man reached up and ran one hand through the long red strands of his mother's hair. The sound of chains rattled with the motion, but Albus could not see the source in the darkness. It was such a familiar sound - a sound from memories of years ago.

His mother stirred at the touch, the first indication of life and motion that they had seen from her in nearly twenty-four hours.

The man hushed her before she spoke, his voice low and soothing, murmering words too quietly for Albus to really make sense of. His mother stilled at the voice, breath sighing out of her as if in contentment. Her arms shifted sluggishly, reaching up towards the stranger leaning over her.

Albus sucked in a startled breath at her whispered voice.

"Harry."

The man tilted his head and Albus saw a gleam of brilliant green, some internal light sparking in the man's eyes as he glanced over at the boy folded into the chair. Albus could feel when the man's gaze returned to their mother and he let out a long slow breath.

"Rest, love," the man said softly, his voice so quiet as to be barely more than a thought carried by the wind. "I will watch over them, always."

"I fear for them," his mother said, equally soft. Her voice was strained, though, where the man's was hushed.

"You need not to anymore, my love," the man said. "Rest. I will be with them."

"But - "

The man hushed her again, cradling her head in his hands. Again the sound of rattling chains, but it was too dark to see more than the man's general shape. The man leaned down over her, his head resting atop hers, forehead to forehead.

"I wish I had the power -" the man began, his voice laced with regret and grief. He did not finish his statement, though and Albus wondered.

"But I do have the power to be with them," the man said instead. "No worries, my love," he continued, brushing his nose against the woman's whose face he held. "I will be with them."

"Yes," she said, her voice lowering to nothing more than breath across her tongue. Albus could not make out her words, but knew that she spoke and that the man over her could hear and understand.

And then, just as the dim light of pre-dawn turned the shades over the windows grey, his mother's breath slowed and stopped, and she did not draw another. Albus felt his tears, even as he heard a single, wobbly sob from the man in the room with them. The man curled over her, his shoulders trembling, his arms tightening around her body, lifting her from the bed as if trying to hug life back into her.

In the slowly growing light, Albus saw the man's face in dim shadows, lined with grief, glittering with tears, and he knew him. Knew him more than when he heard his mother speak his name. The name was forbidden, Taboo, to say it all and he had only ever read the name once or twice when his mother had written it out in the sand in order to tell them about the father they barely remembered - whom Albus could hardly picture in his own mind beyond vague impressions and feelings and memories of stories and short jaunts past the Barrier. It had been so long that he could barely recall what the man looked like, left with the knowledge but not really with an image. But Albus knew him.

Harry James Potter.

The man was his father.

oOo

In the bright light of late morning, Albus woke groggily. He was tucked into the bed he and James shared, the thin blankets wrapped around him against the chilly air. Autumn was coming swiftly and August was nearly over.

He blinked blearily at the wall he was facing, tracing the patterns on the paper, glancing over the crayon drawings Lily and he had tacked across the empty space some years ago - not so many really. The shade on the window was drawn, but the slats had been angled to let in some light, which had angled across his face and eyes and probably woken him.

The house was quiet.

Then the memories of the night crashed through him and he sucked in a harsh breath that turned to a choked sob.

She was gone. She was gone.

oOo

His mother had been laid carefully in her bed, the bedsheets drawn over her body like a shroud. The room was dark and two candles burned lowly on either side of her head on the bed side tables like tributes to her life.

Albus did not remember falling asleep, or moving to his own bed from the chair. He rather thought - hoped - that he had dreamt the scene from the night but he doubted it. Just the same, the house was devoid of the man who had visited their mother in the final hour of her life. He had, however, left his mark on the place.

"There's food in the pantry," James commented when Albus entered their little kitchen.

Albus merely blinked at his brother, and when James gestured towards the pantry, Albus inspected it for himself. It wasn't much, but it was more than they usually stored. Much of it was, oddly, Muggle. Cans of fruit and vegetables, packages of pasta, jars of sweet jams and boxes of rice. They had never really wanted for food, never starved or had worry of it, but there was far more food in the pantry than they had ever kept there before and the sight of it all was quite surprising.

"Grandma Molly?" Albus asked, still cataloguing all the different foods he saw stacked in the pantry.

James shook his head, but Albus didn't see. "She hasn't come by," his brother said.

"Do you -" James stopped suddenly as if his throat had closed on him. Albus turned enough to see his older brother out of the corner of his eye, and the grief etched on his features was deep and clear. James was seventeen now, had taken his NEWTs at the end of his sixth year and passed. Albus thought he looked a lot like their father. Their Grandma Molly said he looked like their grandfather, James, who he was named after but Albus had only seen a photo once, long ago. Now his brother's face looked older, his grief marring his accomplishment from his NEWT scores that had been delivered only recently.

"I know."

James seemed to deflate, his usually jovial mood and bright eyes dulled and subdued.

"I've sent an owl to - to the Knights," his brother said, voice hinting at his disdain for the Knights.

"OK."

James glanced at him, but Albus didn't pay him much mind.

"Where's Lily?" Albus asked.

"Sleeping."

"Does she know?"

"Yes."

Albus just nodded, closed the door on the mysteriously stocked pantry and retreated to the front porch to wait for the Knights.

oOo

Albus was joined by a rather small statured Snowy Owl. He looked over the bird curiously, having seen it a few times delivering letters to his mother over the years, but only sporadically. It was always received with great delight and happiness threaded with wariness by his mother. She would treat the bird like a long lost friend - a very close one - and treasure whatever letter it brought for days before she would burn all evidence of its delivery.

She would speak of their father for days after the owl's appearance, writing secrets in the sand so that they may know of the man who fathered them and disappeared years ago. James remembered him the most, being the oldest. Albus could recall some memories, but they were vague and hazy like a dream. Lily did not know the man at all.  
All three children had associated the owl with their lost father - the messenger that delivered words to them from a man they barely knew.

"Hey Harfang," Albus greeted, subdued.

The white owl floated down on silent wings from the tree next to the house to the arm of the chair Albus had sprawled himself into. The bird settled itself comfortably, watching Albus with large bi-colored eyes. One brilliantly gold, one a jewel green. The owl was otherwise almost all white, with a very light spackling of black that began over its eyes and crested over and down the owl's head and back, tapering off somewhere between its wings. There were also traces of grey that ringed the owl's neck and trailed down the front of its wings.

Harfang fluffed its feathers and seemed to inspect Albus in return.

"No letter, Harfang?"

The bird just twisted its head, looking at him sideways.

"She's not here anymore," Albus told him.

The owl did not respond, and Albus tried to ignore the thin tears that trickled over his cheeks and chin.

oOo

The Knights were something like Aurors, Albus figured, but different. While the Aurors wore the traditional blue robes and dealt with policing the general masses, the Knights wore red trimmed in black and dealt with controlling them all.

Albus had no problems with the Aurors. They were familiar faces. They were neighbors. They were one of them. The Aurors were the peacekeepers of their neighborhood and community. But the Knights were not. The Knights came from the New Ministry. The Knights doled out His laws and they were not one of them.

It was law to inform the Knights of a death.

James had probably informed one of the local Aurors, who in turn carried out the notice to the Knights because their Aunt Audrey, who as an Auror, showed up first, with Grandma Molly not far behind before any of the Knights did.

Audrey was all kindly business, asking when their mother had died, how long she'd been sick, who was with her. James answered the questions for them, his voice dull and a little stilted while Albus had Little Lily cuddled into his side and Molly bustled around the kitchen making tea and slicing one of the loaves of bread that Albus had brought home. Audrey knew how long their mother had been sickly, all the Weasleys did, but Audrey was writing down all of James' answers and told them that it would save them the hassle of the Knights asking the questions. James and Albus both really appreciated that. They both much preferred their Auror aunt asking them all the official questions instead of some strange Knight coming in demanding answers to whatever he wanted to know.  
The Knights didn't like the Potters or the Weasleys very much and it was no secret, of course.

"It's a shame," Molly said, setting the tea set down onto the middle of the kitchen table with a slight rattle. "A shame."

Albus watched as his grandmother passed out teacup and saucers, the shake in her hands rattling the china, but not spilling a drop. Grandma Molly slathered honey across a thick slice of bread and pushed it in front of Lily. Lily gave the woman a weak smile and cradled the plate to her like it was some sort of comfort. She did not speak.

"A shame," she continued as she lowered herself into a chair, "That he couldn't be here with her."

"Who?" Audrey asked, most of her attention still on the sheet of parchment that contained the forms of the deceased that would be turned in to the Knights.

"Her husband of course," Grandma Molly said, neatly avoiding naming the man and breaking the Taboo.

Aunt Audrey shot her head up to the woman, blinking sharply as if she hadn't quite thought of it at all. "Ah, yes. He wasn't, was he?"

Molly gave the woman a withering look but it didn't last long before their grandmother returned to bestowing visual sympathy onto her three grandchildren and stuffing them with bread and honey as well.

Albus bit his tongue in order to not contradict her. The white owl on the back of his chair shifted and beat its wings once, sending his wild black hair into his eyes.

Their tea was interrupted by a sharp pounding on the door.

The Knights had arrived.

oOo

Two Knights had come to confirm the claim of death.

Albus had seen a Knight before, of course, but only from a carefully maintained distance. They did come to their village often enough, but his mother's, his uncles and aunt's and his brother's warnings were always very strict to stay far away from the Knights.

The Knights did not like the Potters.

So Albus had stayed away, but that didn't stop him from watching the red-robbed men and women whenever they were in the village - from a distance.

Of the two Knights at their door, he had seen one of them before but the other was a stranger. The familiar face was Knight Nott, and Albus had seen the red-robed man in confrontation with some of his uncles over the years, many times. He was a wide, hulking man with dirty colored hair and an ugly face that betrayed his cruelty.  
Aunt Audrey answered the door for them.

She greeted them politely, but stiffly, letting the two into their home and watching them like a hawk. The Knights completely ignored her save for the stranger giving her a sneer as he crossed the threshold. Grandma Molly did not bother to get up and neither did Albus and Lily. James did, though, rising belatedly and a little awkwardly, as if only just recalling that he was now the eldest in the house and should therefore greet the Knights lest they force it from him.

"Welcome to -" James began, but was cut off.

"Who died, then?" Knight Nott asked bluntly. Lily jerked against him at the stark reminder and Albus could see James' anger flare in his face.

"My daughter," Grandma Molly stated, her tone that of a scolding that all her grandchildren knew well to cringe under. The two Knights, however, seemed largely unaffected. "Ginevra Potter, nee Weasley."

The two Knights sneered in tandem, and Nott's face morphed into something that Albus could only call glee. He squeezed his eyes tight against it, feeling some of the sharp anger that his brother was displaying so openly.

"The paperwork has been prepared," Aunt Audrey stated, her voice tight against the collective anger against the Knights and their disregard.

Albus opened his eyes to see the parchments pass hands, the Knights barely glancing at the carefully prepared paperwork.

"Where is it?" Nott asked.

"Where is what?"

"The body, Weasley," Nott shot back at her, "Where is the body?"

Aunt Audrey didn't speak for a moment, her jaw clenched tightly. Just as it looked like Nott was going to open his mouth to insult them all again, she spoke. "In the first bedroom down the hall on the right."

Nott gave her a simpering sort of sneer and swept down the hallway with Aunt Audrey on his heels. The second Knight remained in the kitchen, scowling at the sink and the cabinets and the whole lot of them. Albus saw Grandma Molly's large-knuckled grip digging harshly into James' forearm. Probably holding him back. James had learned to leash his temper, he had to with the Knights so often in and out of Hogwarts, but his temper never really left him and it had earned him trouble enough.

The Knights did what they had to to confirm the death of their mother, collected the paperwork prepared by Aunt Audrey, and left again. They left behind a few additional harsh comments and sneers and one pointed jeer towards Lily who would be beginning her first year at Hogwarts in only two weeks.

The Knights cared not what they did with their mother's body, or what the three children would do without her. Then again, James was legally an adult now, so perhaps it was a moot point anyways.

Albus just let Lily curl up against him as he met James' worried eyes. Lily would begin at Hogwarts, but it was bad timing for her.

It was a Game year.

oOo

Lily hadn't spoken a word since their mother's death a week ago. It frustrated James and concerned Albus but Grandma Mollly said she would speak when she was ready to speak and to leave the girl be.

The white owl had yet to leave, which was strange. Albus had never seen Harfang remain more than a week with them so to have the Snowy Owl still with them two weeks later and with no indication of leaving anytime soon at all - well it was strange.

He didn't mind though.

Harfang was a gentle owl with them and Lily seemed to take some comfort when the bird let her pet him. Grandma Molly eyed the bird curiously, but didn't make any comment once Albus told her the bird had come and gone to their house before and that their mother always welcomed it. She just commented that it looked a lot like their father's old owl and went back to rummaging through their mysteriously stocked pantry. It didn't seem like the food ever really diminished.

Albus returned his attention to finalizing his summer homework and James went back to worrying about Lily while their aunts and uncles who lived in the village with them prepared a dinner to honor the passing of their mother.

Albus eyed the trees of the forest out the window, wanting nothing more than to sneak past the Barrier and run through the underbrush, but Grandma Molly hadn't left at all since the day the Knights had come and Albus was all but restricted to her range of sight.

oOo

The dinner was quiet and held at the Burrow. The Burrow was Grandma Mollly's house and it was the farthest away from the village center, across the River Otter. It butted up almost right against the Southern edge of the Barrier and Albus sometimes fancied that he could hear the Barrier hum from inside the house.

Uncle Bill said that the Barrier was inconvenient because it cut across the old ward lines and messed with them, but any time he brought it up Grandma Molly would shush him. But Albus hadn't seen Uncle Bill since last Yule and he wasn't there now.

The funeral dinner brought all the family together, all the ones inside the Barrier of Ottery St. Catchpole anyways. Albus heard Grandma Molly grumbling about the indecency of the New Ministry refusing to let the rest of the family cross the Barrier for it but Aunt Audrey would then distract her with talk of the food preparations and Albus would hear little more about it all. It left most of them, anyways, still in attendance. Uncle Percy with Aunt Audrey and cousin Molly and Lucy. Uncle George lived in Diagon Alley still, so he was missing, as was Uncle Charlie, who Albus had only met once. Uncle Bill and his lot lived off near the coast so he wasn't able to make it across the Barrier either. A few of their local family friends were present, the Scamanders and old Diggery and Old Madam Biddle who spent her time fussing around the kitchen and driving Grandma Molly to yelling. Uncle Ron was there, looking very sad with Rose and Hugo, but Aunt Hermione, like Albus's father was a part of the Taboo and had gone away years ago.

James had disappeared into the little den behind the stairs with Uncle Percy and Grandpa Arthur and Albus hadn't seen them since they got there. Lily had promptly been surrounded by the Scamander boys and Hugo and Lucy and they had all disappeared as well.

It left Albus to the living room corner near the fireplace with cousin Molly who was only two months older, though to her it was a lot. Molly was getting tall already for a thirteen-year-old, and was rail thin. She had cropped her hair short at the beginning of the summer, leaving the ends to curl around her ears in red ribbons. She said it stayed out of her face better short, but her bangs were long enough already that she kept pushing them aside with a huff more often than not.

Rose joined Albus and Molly in the corner of the living room and they could both tell that Rose had something on her mind.

"Sorry," she offered, giving Albus a truly sorrowful look. She had liked his mum, he knew. He nodded his acceptance and she plopped down next to them.

"Third year," she commented, staring out at the living room and watching the family move in and out of it.

"Game year," Molly said, her voice rather quiet.

"Lily's first year," Albus said.

Rose seemed to stiffen and then turned to look at him. Her worry was obvious but he didn't think it was entirely for Lily.

"James made it through," she commented.

"Yea," Albus conceded. It really wasn't a large probability that Lily would be called up. She was only a first year.

"She has no points yet," Rose continued, "not more than any other first year, right?"

"But she might gain them right away," Molly said, scowling. "If she's sorted the wrong way."

Rose huffed. "The wrong way - you mean the right way."

Albus reached over and pinched her, hard enough to get her attention immediately.

"Which way?" he asked softly, looking at her through the fringe of his wild hair.

Rose huffed again, but did not continue the argument. Neither did Molly.

"She'll start with two," Albus said into the ensuing silence. "One for being a first year. One for being a Potter. Just like me and James did."

"Me and Moll, too," Rose said, "Same as us all." She gestured to the house and the family within it.

"She'll gain one more for being sorted to Gryffindor," Rose said surely.

"Gryffindor for sure?" Molly asked.

Albus shrugged. "Maybe Slytherin. Maybe."

"Three isn't much," Molly ventured, not commenting on the house, "not really."

"I have eight," Rose said.

"Eight," Molly echoed.

Albus was silent for a moment, causing his cousins to look at him warily. "James had collected fourty-two by the end of last year."

"That's why he took his NEWTs early, right?" Rose asked, though really it was more of a statement. "It got him out of the school before the next Game year. His odds were bad."

"His temper was bad," Molly said wryly.

Albus just nodded.

"How many times will your name be in Al?" Rose asked quietly when Albus did not volunteer. The two probably had a pretty good idea, really. He didn't exactly hide it, no one really bothered to.

Admitting it was sometimes hard though, because fear came with the admission.

"Thirteen."

oOo

Platform Nine and Three Quarters on September first was a nervous twittering of parents and children and pets. A strange sort of hush and hum was settled over the area as worried parents tried to reassure nervous children in the face of the upcoming Games.  
Game years were always such.

Albus and his siblings were corralled with the rest of their cousins, the collective Weasleys and all arrived with one roughshod portkey that dumped them all in a tangled heap. The Ministry worker who collected the length of rough twine from them sneered down at the clumsy lot and barked out an order for them to move out of the way of the arrivals area.  
They all shuffled away, doing as they were told. It wasn't worth it to gain too much attention from the New Ministry at this time. Not this year.

Other Weasleys were already on the platform and greeted the mass from Ottery St. Catchpole warmly and with many hugs. Uncle George and his lot and Uncle Bill and all his ladies, too. They were quickly joined by old family friends, the Longbottoms, though their father was gone - Taboo - and only Mrs. Hannah was there with her two daughters.  
Albus let his aunts and uncles pass him around, offering their sympathies and concerns and well-wishes in the year ahead at Hogwarts. If they were a little more clingy with him and Lily today than they were normally, nobody commented.

The Snowy Owl sat atop one of his shoulders through all of it, drawing some comments but little concern and the blasted owl seemed disinclined to leave Albus alone any time soon.

Lily seemed entirely reluctant to let her adult family members go and Albus finally had to peel her off Uncle Bill and allow her to attach to his own waist before she would allow herself to be brought any closer to the train.

Uncle Bill walked with them until James took his place.

Albus looked up at his elder brother, noting again the similarities to their father's face.  
James pushed his fingers through his hair, making it stand up in wild array. He looked nervous, or worried.

"James," Albus began, which opened his brother's mouth as if he had just pulled the plug on a drain.

"Look out for her, Al," James started. "Well I know you will, you always have, but its important, right? Look after her. I can't, you know. Maybe I shouldn't have tested early, so I could have been there this year, but you know me. You know how many - well you know."

"I know," Albus repeated, amused despite himself. James stopped, shutting his mouth with a clack of teeth against teeth. He squinted down at his younger siblings, especially Albus, annoyed.

"Yeah," James said, his face loosing some of its intensity. "I suppose so."

Albus thought he looked as if he regretted something, but Albus already knew what it was. James had tested out early and was avoiding the Games this year. He had already made it through two in the past and his odds weren't good anymore. Testing out early took his name out of the Goblet. But that meant he wouldn't be at Hogwarts this year. Albus and Lily would be there without him.

"I'll look out for her," Albus assured. "Promise. You know me."

James huffed out something that was almost a laugh, but mostly just a bark of air.

"Yeah," James said again. He placed one hand over Albus's shoulder, squeezing, and the other atop Lily's brilliantly colored head of hair. "Yeah I do."

oOo

The train ride to Hogwarts was largely uneventful. Albus shared a compartment with Rose and Lily until the Scamander twins dragged Lily away to join their gaggle of friends. Albus knew that most of them were family, cousins, and so let them go.

A very short while after, as if the boy had been waiting for Lily to leave, Scorpius Malfoy slithered through the door into their compartment.

Rose greeted him rather absently over the edge of a thick tome of transfiguration, to which Scorpius scowled in faux insult.

Albus almost made up for the girl's lack of attention by fixing the blonde with a direct gaze. "How was your summer, Scor?"

"Don't call me that," Scorpius said automatically and without much force. He latched the door behind him and let himself fall bonelessly to the bench beside Albus. "Fine, as usual. Rather dull to be honest."

Albus hummed in a sort of acknowledgement. Scorpius looked at him sideways. "What's up with you?"

Albus shrugged, lopsided, and let his hands run over the white feathers of the owl that had perched itself on his lap. "Mum died," Albus said quietly.

Scorpius was silent after this and Albus could hear Rose freeze across from them.

"I - heard," Scorpius ventured slowly as if testing the waters of a pool with his toes.

"Yeah," Albus said. "Thought you might've."

Scorpius was silent for a long few minutes before speaking again. "You OK?"

Albus shrugged again, but managed to give the blonde a weak smile. At least his face was dry. His tears had dried up already.

"Yeah," Scorpius said, uncertain. "Sor-"

"It's OK," Albus said. "Not your fault."

Scorpius let out a quick breath and sat back against the bench seat, watching Albus a little warily. Albus just took comfort in the soothing motions of petting Harfang. Scorpius and Rose were silent until the blonde asked about the owl. Albus introduced the Snowy stubborn owl to his friends. Rose had met Harfang already, but the owl inspected Scorpius with nearly a ninety degree tilt of its head. Scorpius watched the owl in return, a little cross-eyed and consternated at the intense attention an owl was giving him. Albus commented that Harfang was just making sure he was acceptable, to which Scorpius scoffed, blatantly unintimidated by the thought that he could be anything but acceptable, even to a picky owl.

Harfang seemed to decided that it wasn't going nip at Scorpius any time soon, but the blonde didn't try to pet it, either, which Albus supposed was probably as good as it was going to get.

oOo

The rest of the journey to Hogwarts was uneventful and too soon Albus was seated at his house table in the Great Hall, legs jumpy in anticipation of Lily's sorting. The first years were due at any moment and Albus was spending the time waiting by watching the large double doors and completely ignoring his house mates.

A sharp jab to his ribs made him jump and whip his head around to look at the culprit. Rose scowled at him.

"Albus!"

"What?"

Rose huffed in a way that made her wild curly locks bounce around her face. She pushed them back over her shoulder in frustration before fixing Albus with an annoyed look.

"You're ignoring me," she scolded.

Albus just shrugged helplessly, his eyes already drifting back to the doors.

"Al," she said, drawing the sound out until he looked at her again. She didn't bother saying anything, just nodded her head towards the teachers table at the front of the hall. Confused, Albus tracked his eyes along its length, absently identifying the teachers seated there. Nothing looked out of the ordinary; there were Professors Sprout and Babbling and Vector, and old McGonagoll talking with Madam Pince. Senior Goyle was there, scowling at his empty plate and ignoring Professor Edgecomb's attempts at conversation. Professor Sprout was gesturing rather animatedly to the Care of Magical Creatures professor, Hopper, a tall willowy man who looked to be suffering her quite a bit.

The Headmaster was missing, as well as their Head of House and Charms professor. Headmaster Snape was probably waiting for the first years, as he did every year, but the missing Charms Professor was unusual.

"Where's Malfoy?" Albus asked, turning to look at Scorpius who sat on his other side.

"Where's your mum?"

Scorpius looked just as clueless, though.

"And who is the new Dark Arts professor?" Rose asked, eyeing the third missing seat at the head table.

Neither of the boys knew the answer to that either.

oOo

The Sorting of the first years took a bit of time. There was a large crop of them this year, and the hat didn't seem to be in any sort of hurry at all. Headmaster Snape stood before the head table as Professor McGonagoll read off the names of the first years' from his side. Her hands shook the parchment, but her voice was strong and clear as she called it out over the hall with no need for the aid of a charm to be heard. Her blue robes were rather bright in comparison to the flat black shroud that Snape wore. He was all black next to her colored robes and greyed hair.

Finally, she called out the first of the three Weasley cousins amongst the first years shuffling in the front of the hall.

"Potter, Lily!"

Albus sat up straight while simultaneously hunching his head down into his hands, half covering his face in anticipation. He wished James was there, no matter that his brother would have been across the hall from him.

Little Lily shuffled through the throng of first years, simultaneously nervous and proud. She shuffled her feet as she moved up the stairs to the platform that held the stool and Sorting Hat, but she held her head high at the same time.

Albus was so proud of her.

She visibly took a deep breath, seeking out Albus's eyes as she sat on the stool and McGonagoll dropped the old hat onto her head. The hat was so large that it slid right over her eyes, and Albus groaned, covering his own with his hands.

Rose patted his shoulder and then gripped his arm in a vice, just as nervous as he.  
The Hat was silent for a full three minutes. Almost as long as Albus' own four minute sorting. He wondered what sort of conversation the hat was having with his sister. It felt like it went on forever.

Then... "SLYTHERIN!"

Albus shot his head up in surprise and stared at his sister.

Lily, for her part, looked a little shocked, but she pulled the hat off her head and slid off the stool. Leaving the hat in McGonagoll's hands, Lily began making her way across the hall to the Slytherin table. She started slowly, unsurely, but then crossed the rest of the distance with quicker steps. Albus watched her come, giving her a smile when she sought him out amongst her new housemates. She sat at the end of the table amongst the previously sorted Slytherin first years and Albus leaned across the table in order to see past the other third and second years between him and her.

"Lily!"

She looked over at him and he could see the combined pride and acceptance and surprise in her face. He shot her a thumbs-up sign and a grin, trying to settle her. She seemed to accept his attempt at comfort for she let out a sigh and gave him a nod before turning her attention to the rest of her peers still waiting to be sorted.

"Oh good," Samas Selwyn sneered. "Another Potter in Slytherin."

Albus glared at the fourth year boy.

"Who would ever have thought it," Selwyn continued. "The hat must be going mental to let such rubbish into our house. Two Potters is too much of a taint."

"Just ignore him, Al," Rose hissed in his ear. Her grip hadn't ever left his arm and she was now using it to hold his arm down under the table lest Selwyn and his cronies see the wand Albus suddenly gripped tightly in his fist.

"He's not worth it," Scorpius sneered at their fellow. Selwyn just gave the three a haughty look.

Albus growled but turned away from Selwyn and did his level best to ignore the continued insults and gossip that the fourth year Slytherins devolved into.

"So," Rose said, watching as the last two Weasley cousins were sorted into Ravenclaw - both Lucy and Hugo. They'd do alright there, Albus thought absently. They had been sorted rather quickly. It left the collective Weasley cousins quite scattered amongst the houses, though Dominique was the only one in Hufflepuff. But Dominique was a seventh year, and even - against all odds with bearing the Weasley name - made Prefect.  
Albus wondered, distantly, what their absent father would think of two of his children making it into the house of the snakes.

He could already imagine James' reaction but he really hoped that his brother would curb it for Lily's sake.

oOo

Albus hadn't been sure, but the Snowy Owl seemed to be perfectly content to deliver letters for the two Potter children at Hogwarts. Harfang did seem reluctant to go and lingered on Albus' arm as Lily crooned at it, having carefully tied their letters to the bird's leg some minutes ago. The owl nipped lightly at her fingers, making her giggle and Albus could forgive the gesture if only because he hadn't seen Lily smile or laugh since their mother died.

She still hadn't spoken.

"Time to go," Albus said, more to the owl than to Lily. "I have Dark Arts and you've got Herbology in ten minutes."

Lily sighed softly and gave Harfang another careful stroke over the bird's back. Albus pulled his arm away from his sister, and with a purposeful motion, launched the bird into the sky. Harfang took off on near silent wings, circling over their heads three times before winging off across the grounds.

"James will be happy with your Sorting," Albus commented, watching the white owl until it blended into the overcast sky and became impossible to track. "He might be disappointed he didn't get to claim you in his house, but that just means I get you in mine."

Lily didn't say anything so Albus draped one arm across her shoulders and steered her towards the greenhouses across the grounds.

oOo

The Dark Arts class had once been called the Defense Against the Dark Arts but years ago, before Albus was ever born, it had changed. He heard Grandma Molly complain about the change often, but the class remained as Albus had always known it, except every year they got a new professor.

"It's the old curse," Uncle Bill had once told him. "It's been there for decades."

Last year they had dealt with Professor Zabini, who was a dark-skinned, tall man with a very soothing voice and a slow temper. He taught them mostly a lot about various dark creatures and had even combined many of their classes with the willowy Professor Hopper's Care of Magical Creatures. Scorpius often commented that those combined classes should have been called the Demise of Magical Creatures, but Albus figured it was just a technicality.

At the end of the year there had been a small scandal surrounding Professor Zabini and his third wife who had been found mysteriously dissected in their gardens. It was said some stray beast had gotten her, but no one had found anything. Zabini had used the event to leave the school three weeks before the end of the year.

Albus had heard his aunts and uncles talk about that too, and how it ran in the family - mysterious deaths of spouses.

This year they had an unknown. The man had arrived after the Welcome Feast and sometime in the night, they suspected. He was rather common in appearance, brown-eyed and haired with average height and build with a slight paunch at his gut and crows feet etched deep at the corners of his eyes that gave him the appearance of squinting all the time. Grey peppered his curly hair at the temples and the backs of his knuckles were scarred as if he had punched both fists through a stone wall and hadn't bothered to heal them properly. He watched the third year Slytherin and Gryffindors filter into his classroom from a relaxed posture leaning against his desk.

His name had been written across the blackboard behind him in neat capitol letters.

Professor Harry J. Grannon.

Nobody knew anything about him.

"Welcome to your fourth year Dark Arts class," he said, waving his wand to pull the door closed. Albus and Rose eyed each other at the display of wordless magic. "We will be focusing on defensive magics this year, specifically on the defense against the Dark Arts, of which you have been woefully untutored in. Your OWLs next year will include such a topic and I fear you are all terribly unprepared for those exams. I will be doing my level best this year to bring you all up to speed."

Professor Grannon proved to be a strict and to-the-point teacher. He reminded Albus quite a bit of McGonagoll actually, and the man took no notice of the derisive comments from some of the more vocal Slytherins who thought that the defensive side of magics were better left to the lesser or the weak-minded. Professor Grannon did take points away from any who interrupted his introductory lecture, however and the class soon learned to keep their lips sealed out of turn.

Rose seemed to love the man almost instantly, sitting on the edge of her seat and taking copious notes much to Albus and Scorpius' consternation. Professor Grannon, however, seemed to approve of this practice quite a bit for he awarded Rose two points for the meticulousness of her note-taking.

oOo

The first two weeks of classes slugged by with little event. Harfang returned to Albus with a response from James and Grandma Molly. Albus thought that James sounded very angry in his letter, but their brother did ensure to congratulate Lily and tell them both to keep their noses clean. Albus worried about him.

Lily had settled into Slytherin well enough, while maintaining her friendship with their cousins and making a point to slide into the space beside Albus at the Slytherin table for at least half the breakfasts out of the week. She seemed to have made a tentative friendship with another Slytherin first year girl, Marceline Scarret. Albus didn't know the family name and figured at least it wasn't a family that his aunts and uncles complained about so the other girl was probably a safe friend for Lily.

They complained about the Malfoys, though, and Scorpius was a good friend, so maybe that wasn't a good indication of friendship potential.

She still refused to speak and he had even gone to see Professor Sprout, her Head of House, about it and the old Sprout had told him not to worry too much. Grandma Molly had already written and told Professor Sprout about their mother and how Lily hadn't spoken a word since.

Despite Grandma Molly's and Professor Sprout's assurances, Albus still worried. He worried that some of the other professors would take offense and give her more Points - and not the House points system either, but the ones that really mattered and the ones that no student in their right mind really wanted to have.

But Lily remained with her meager two points, one for being a first year, one for being the daughter of Potter and a Weasley - the daughter of one of those under Taboo.

Albus feared the following Friday, which would be a feast at dinner and the New Ministry would arrive with their Knights and the Goblet would come out to be lit. And then everybody's names would be entered, some more than once, some many ties over to be drawn out again for the Wizards' Games.

There were some who looked forward to the spectacle, but Albus wasn't one of them and he feared for Lily who would not survive it if she were selected. He feared for himself too, but it was easy to focus on his sister more, or the other younger Weasley cousins. James had made it through six years after all, two Game years, and with forty-two points to his name.

Lily would be OK. She only had two.

oOo

"Next year is the last, you realize," Rose commented out of the blue on Tuesday morning. Albus paused in his breakfast and rose a single brow at the girl next to him, not having a single clue as to what she was talking about. Lily, in between them, continued to munch slowly on a slice of honeyed toast, seemingly completely oblivious.

"Next year is the last year of the Rebellion Point," Rose said.

Albus blinked.

"Twenty-two years, remember," Rose said. "For twenty-two years the children of the Rebels would each gain one point towards the Games, as recompense. Next year is the last."

Albus blinked at her again, not having really thought about it at all. It was something that just was, really. There were a number of families who had the Rebellion Point hanging over them and their children. The Weasleys and the Potters most notable. But the Longbottoms, Scamanders, the Lupins - who had all disappeared years ago, Teddy included - and a number of others as well were all under the Rebellion Point law, too.

"Just in time for Augusta Longbottom," Albus commented. "She'll be a first year next year. She's the last of us, isn't she? The children under the Rebellion Point?"

Rose was thoughtful for a moment, looking as if she were checking off a list in her head.

"Yes, I think so, too. Except for Terry Thomas. He's only seven."

Albus just nodded and looked down at Lily, wishing that the law had expired last year, before she had an extra point added to her name for just being the child of one of the Rebels.

oOo

On Wednesday night, after their late Astronomy class and most of their classmates had retreated to their beds down the Slytherin halls Albus, Rose and Scorpius tucked themselves into a quiet corner of the Slytherin dormitory behind a few thick privacy spells. Albus finally told them that he had seen his father.

"But, he's been gone -" Rose started.

"Since I was eight," Albus said.

Rose nodded, not really needing to be told that. She knew. She knew very well. Her mother was one of those under Taboo and they had gone at the same time.

"I thought the New Ministry said that they had died?" Scorpius asked.

Albus shrugged, eyeing Rose who had gone very quiet. "Of what? They never bothered to say. Dad was gone long before the New Ministry said anything anyways. It wasn't like he suddenly died or anything. He said goodbye."

"Now that you mention it," Scorpius started, looking very thoughtful. "So did mine."

"Two years after, right?" Albus clarified. "Your dad left two years after mine, when we were ten."

Scorpius nodded, still thinking back. "Yeah, just before my birthday. I remember thinking it was a bad gift."

Albus snorted which only brought a scowl to the blonde's face.

"But he did say goodbye," Scorpius said. "Said that he'd see me again. Two days later the New Ministry said he was dead. Mum didn't cry though, not really. She just looked sad."

"Mum never said Dad was dead," Albus commented. "Just that he was away. Said that she always wondered why Uncle Ron wasn't away, too." Albus looked over at Rose, whose head was lowered and her hair curtaining her face. Her dad was Albus' Uncle Ron, and Uncle Ron never seemed like he was really happy. He smiled and laughed, sure, especially with his kids and the Weasley cousins, but Albus always thought he was sad and they'd caught Uncle Ron staring out a window often enough, as if waiting for somebody to come home.

"Dad said someone had to stay," Rose said very quietly. Albus had to lean closer to hear her. "And mum was better suited to going and he was better at staying. Said he could wait for her to come back when they were ready so that they had someone here when they did. Mum said goodbye, too."

The boys watched her for a few minutes, but Rose didn't continue and didn't raise her head either.

"But you saw him," Scorpius asked Albus after a time. "You saw your dad, for certain?"

"Yeah, yeah I did."

oOo

Sometime Thursday night, just before dawn, Albus was woken by Lily.

He didn't know that she knew where he slept, but she apparently had no trouble finding his dorm, even through her tears and the darkness of the Slytherin dorms at that time of night. She didn't say anything, just crawled into his bed and Albus let her curl up next to him, a little frightened at her tears and the shaking of her body.

"Lily," he whispered, eyeing his dorm mates once to see if any of them had woken. They were all still and quiet though so he turned his attention back to the girl in his arms. "Lils, Little Lils," he said into her hair.

She just buried her face in his chest and he felt the warm wetness of tears through his pajamas.

"Shh," he hushed, wrapping her in his arms to try and soothe her, and him. "It was just a nightmare, it's OK. It'll be OK. Shhh."

"...that it was me," her voice said, so very quietly.

Albus just hushed her again, not needing to hear anymore to know what her nightmare had been about. He just tightened his hold and tried to get her to stop shaking. He had had such nightmares, too, before and he was a bit surprised he hadn't so far this year either, but he supposed he was too worried about Lily to worry about himself much.

"It won't be you," he assured her, talking into her red hair because she wouldn't let go of him so he could look at her face. "It won't be you Little Lily, your name will only be in there twice, you won't be called up. It'll be OK, I promise it'll be OK."

In the dark, with Lily wrapped up around him, he wished their mother was there. She always knew how to take the nightmares away and how to make them feel safe despite everything, anything. She was good at that, and Albus missed the lullabies.

He wished their father was there, too.

oOo

Friday came all too soon and the Feast of Games with it. Albus, Rose and Scorpius kept to themselves during the long feast in the Great Hall. The New Ministry was present in number, and all the Weasleys and Potters, too, knew to keep attention off themselves if they could. For the most part, the New Ministry representatives and the dozen Knights were not much interested in the students, distracted as they were by whatever debate the lot had going on with the professors up at the expanded head table. There was a vague muffling spell in place so none of the students knew what their conversation was about, but few were paying them any mind anyways.

The slightly smoking Goblet of Fire on its large, prominent stand took up most of the students' wary attention.

It was monstrous, as far as goblets go, the size of a large trophy and probably just as heavy with all its jewels and filigree. It had not been fully lit yet, but it was giving off a light sort of blue haze as if in anticipation. All of the students' names had been dropped into the thing already, probably at the start of term once the first years were all sorted, just waiting to be drawn out.

Albus tried to keep his head down, tried not to stare at the thing and keep his dinner down as well.

He kept seeking out Lily amongst the first years at the end of their table, but she was sitting on the same side as him so he didn't meet her eyes very often unless he leaned way forward or backward. She would turn, though, every once in a while, to give furtive looks down the row of students in between them and he would try to give her any kind of comfort he could over the space in between them.

"How many, Potter?" a voice called to him from down the table.

Albus turned from his sister to take in Samas Selwyn and his goons. They were all sneering at him from over their plates

"Well," Selwyn asked again, "How many times is your name in the Goblet, Potter?"  
Albus didn't answer him but the number echoed around his own head - thirteen, thirteen, thirteen - like a particularly doomed gong.

"Maybe I'll volunteer," Selwyn said, gaining encouraging sounds and comments from the fourth and fifth years around him. "Maybe your little sister will be drawn and called up, Potter, and I'll get to fight her."

Albus frowned and suddenly felt Rose's vice grip on his arm.

"Don't listen to him, Al," Rose hissed urgently, "Don't respond. He's baiting you. He's not worth it!"

Albus nearly bit clean through his own tongue in his effort to keep it from wagging. Giving Selwyn a rather practiced sneer of his own, he pointedly turned away from the fourth year boy and looked in the other direction.

"He wouldn't volunteer yet anyways," Scorpius commented with dismissive derision. "He's not ready yet. He couldn't face the seventh year Sytherins who will volunteer. They'd smear his face into the dirt, no matter that he's a Pureblood idiot."

"You're a Pureblood, too, Scor," Rose commented, though with little heat.

Scorpius scoffed, "But I'm not an idiot."

Albus didn't really hear them though, seeking out Lily's bright copper hair amongst the first years and trying to ignore his imagination's dark imagery that involved the rather violent seventh year Slytherins and Lily in the Games at the same time.

oOo

The feast ended with sweets and deserts that settled heavily atop Albus' tongue. He stared at the barely touched treacle tart in front of him and finally pushed his plate away, unable to stomach any more. The sugary sweetness was cloying in the face of the Goblet.  
The Director of Games was in attendance and had already stood up to garner everybody's attention.

"Carrow," Albus heard Scorpius hiss under his breath.

The Director shot noisy sparks out of her wand which caused a hush to fall over the tense student body. She stood tall and proud in the exact spot that the stool and Sorting Hat was three weeks ago. Her brown hair had been braided back along her head into an elaborate bun that settled more on top of her head than in the back of it. Her robes were bordering on ostentatious, certainly extravagant in their volume of fabric and richness of violet color. Large violet Genie's Geraniums decorated her hair and shoulder and fell down over her breast.

She smiled at them all like they were particularly dense toddlers.

"Welcome, welcome!" She crowed, raising her arms in a grand gesture. "Welcome all to the Triennial Wizards' Games! May I extend an extremely warm welcome to all those not here in attendance at Hogwarts today, all those listening in over the Wizards Wireless this fine September evening. Welcome!"

"Simpering shrew," Rose grumbled out of the corner of her mouth. Albus held in a snort, but barely.

"And again, a welcome to all the fine students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Director Carrow continued, her voice a little shrill as it carried loudly out over the Great Hall. "Welcome to the seventh Triennial Wizards' Games!"

A polite smattering of applause sounded in the hall, but Albus did not participate. Many did not. Director Carrow politely ignored the lack of enthusiasm the students afforded her, but she did give them all a light look of disappointment.

"So without further ado," Carrow called out, "We will draw the names of this years Contestants to the Wizards' Games!"

She gestured elaborately at the Goblet on its pedestal before her and as if it had been waiting for such attention, the Goblet flared to life sending a tower of blue and white flames into the air. Those students closest jumped at the sudden existence of fire and the hall settled into a tense hush.

"Will the Heads of Houses please come forth," Director Carrow called, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the Goblet and the space surrounding it.

Professors Malfoy, Edgecomb, Sprout and Trevelyan all rounded the head table to take their places on either side of the Goblet, all in line with their students' house tables. Albus eyed the pretty little Professor Malfoy who was Scorpius' mum, then Ravenclaw's Trevelyan who had his long hair let down for once instead of pulled back to avoid it dangling into stray potions. Old Professor Sprout moved slowly, but gave her students all a comforting, sweet smile which did little offer much comfort, Albus thought. Then there was Professor Marietta Edgecomb who was the newest Gryffindor Head after McGonagoll retired from the post last year. Albus thought that Edgecomb wasn't looking particularly brave at all. Rather she was spending quite a bit of time eyeing the Knights as the red-robed figures stretched out across the hall, taking up posts in a rather loose circle.

"Are we all ready?" Carrow asked the Heads and at their nods she called out a spirited,

"Splendid!"

"Somebody needs to turn off that sonorous before she kills my eardrums," Rose grumbled lowly. Albus elbowed her, eyeing a particularly burly Knight that shuffled his way behind them along the wall. Rose didn't even look behind her, just rolled her eyes for Albus to see and tried to glare down the shrill Director Carrow.

"Six Contestants from Gryffindor," Carrow declared, reading off a neatly trimmed square of parchment and giving the table full of students in question a simpering, happy nod. "Five from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw." Two more nods, and then a thin expression that bordered on a smirk as she looked at the last table. "And four contestants from Slytherin."

Rose huffed, but otherwise managed to hold her tongue against the skewed numbers.  
"Twenty contestants in all," Carrow proclaimed, "As in every Triennial Wizards' Game! Ready? As is tradition, Gryffindor first."

Carrow glanced at the four Heads, but didn't seem to particularly care what their responses to her were. She glided down the platform to the space that held the flaming Goblet of Fire and with a resounding clack of her wand against its brim, the Goblet spewed out a trail of orange flame.

Albus held his breath.

The Goblet spit out three names almost immediately, then paused in bated anticipation. Carrow read out the three names with an excited ringing voice, passing on the slips of charred papers to Edgecomb as she did so.

As their names were called, the students rose from their table and moved to stand next to their Head of House. Two sixth year boys and a fourth year girl. Albus wasn't very close to any of them and barely even knew the two boys at all.

By luck alone none of them were Weasleys.

Carrow raised her wand to rap the Goblet again, but paused to give the length of the Gryffindor table a shrewd look. "Any volunteers amongst the Gryffindors?"

There was a long pause before a Gryffindor's seventh year male Prefect raised his hand.  
Carrow found this terribly exciting and urged the boy up to the front of the hall, waving her arm in elaborate swings as the boy walked the length of the hall to stand near her. He was steady enough and brave. Albus wondered about his motivation.

"We have a Gryffindor volunteer!" Carrow called out, her voice a whole octave higher in her excitement. "Come, come, lad. What is your name? Tell the good people at home who you are, you brave boy."

"Uh, Reese," the boy said as he got close enough to the woman for her to grip his shoulders and haul him next to her.

"And your family name, Reese?"

"Kersey. I'm Reese Kersey."

Carrow lost interest in him at that point, turning to tap her wand against the Goblet and calling out his name. A second later one of his no doubt many slips of paper shot out of the Goblet, simmering with stubborn licks of flame. Carrow snatched it out of the air and passed it to Edgecomb with hardly another look at the seventh year boy who had volunteered.

"Any others from Gryffindor?" Carrow asked, glancing at the students at the table. There wasn't. She shook her head in elaborated disappointment and rapped her wand against the Goblet again, summoning the last two Gryffindor contestants.

One was Georgina Wood, the fourteen year old daughter of Quidditch player Oliver Wood, who chocked down a visible sob but stood and joined the rest of her house's contestants without a tear or another word. The final Gryffindor name drawn was -

"Roxanne Weasley!" Carrow called out, positively and truly delighted.

Albus watched his cousin rise from her chair and cross the hall with quiet dignity. Their other cousins in Gryffindor stood as she passed them, calling out their well-wishes and good-lucks quietly. Dominique in Hufflepuff did the same, reaching out to let her fingers brush against Roxanne's arm as the other girl walked by her. Roxanne paused long enough to give her cousin a smile before reaffixing her gaze on the shrill peacock woman beckoning her from the side of the Goblet.

"She'll be OK," Rose assured quietly.

"And now for Hufflepuff!" Carrow went on, rapping her wand against the Goblet and sending more orange streams of flame into the air.

Hufflepuff's five were all drawn from the Goblet, as were four of Ravenclaw's contestants. One of Ravenclaw's sixth year girls volunteered, a pureblood girl with a plain face and haughty look. The Hufflepuff crop were mostly young, and very frightened looking. None of them were of the Weasley family and Albus felt a little bit more of his worry ease - just a little.

"And last, but certainly not least," Carrow said, taking in the last student table with bright, vaguely crazed eyes. "Slytherin."

Albus felt like he drew breath and wasn't able to let it out again.

"Who will be our volunteers from Slytherin this Wizards' Game," Carrow asked, not even touching the Goblet yet, which was understandable. There were always volunteers from the Slytherin house. This year was no different. Three seventh year Slytherins immediately stood, all boys, and stalked down the length of the table. Albus eyed them as they passed, taking particular note of the confident smirk on Felder Nott's face. Nott almost paused as he passed behind Albus, seeming to loom over him from behind, his bulk blocking out no little amount of light coming from the candelabras on the wall. Then Nott passed and Albus turned to watch the older boy's broad back.

Nott paused again, just as he passed behind Lily, and Albus nearly growled. Nott shot a smirk at Albus then ran a pointed finger down behind Lily's head, not touching her, but clearly a threat nonetheless. Nott gave Albus a sneering grin and moved on again, rounding the Slytherin table with a sweeping stride the brought him up next to Professor Malfoy and the peacocky Carrow woman who spent far too much time congratulating the boy on his bravery in volunteering.

Albus watched them like a hawk, drowning out any attempts that Rose made to speak to him. His attention was wholly on the chatting Carrow and Nott and the way Carrow's eyes shot over to gaggle of first year Slytherins and locked in place while a slow, satisfied smile crossed her lips.

"We have one final contestant to name," Carrow called out, turning back to the smoking Goblet. "One last brave little Slytherin to come forward for the Games. Who shall it be? A confident sixth year boy ready to stand up for his House?"

Not a single sixth year boy from Slytherin moved, and Albus' worry folded in his gut into horrible premonition. Carrow's eyes carted down the length of the Slytherin table, lingering amongst the first years again.

"Or will our final contestant be from the new little Slytherin first years," she simpered, her eyes never leaving the youngest. "A bright-eyed new little witch, perhaps."

"Oh no," Rose said, her voice very quiet.

Albus saw Scorpius on her other side bend over the table to fix Albus with a rather wide-eyed look but Albus barely paid them any mind. He was still wholly focused on Director Carrow who hadn't looked away from the first years - one particular red-headed first year - and was raising her wand to the Goblet's rim, her lips parted in a whisper.

The Goblet spit out a thin, fiery trail and the charred slip of paper fluttered in the air over Carrow's ridiculously up-done head. She reached for it lazily, eyeing the bit of parchment with a very satisfied smile.

"Oh, this is splendid!" She called out, grabbing the parchment from the air and cupping it in her hand. "Oh, yes, this is such a splendid thing!"

Albus thought he heard Rose mutter again, but his entire frame of reference and hearing was focused wholly on Carrow as she held her hand with the slip of parchment before her chin in positively giddy excitement.

"Our final little Slytherin contestant issss Lily -"

"I volunteer!"

Carrow stopped in surprise and stared.

Albus had stood suddenly, calling out his intent to the hall with enough desperation to have made himself perfectly clear and loud enough for everybody to hear him.

"Pardon me?" Carrow said, blinking at him.

Albus swallowed down his sudden nerves as the consequences of his actions tried to choke him from within.

"What are you doing?" Rose hissed at him, gripping his sleeve and trying to pull him back into his seat. He refused to be moved, however. He wouldn't let Carrow finish that name. There was only one Lily in the school and he refused to let her be anywhere near the Wizards' Games.

"I volunteer," he repeated, quieter but no less heard.

"Your mad," Rose whispered, still gripping his sleeve.

Carrow's look of surprise morphed into a satisfied smirk. She glanced at the name on the slip in her hand once, gave Albus another creepy smile and reached up to let the piece of paper flutter back into the Goblet's fiery interior. Without needing to ask his name, she tapped the Goblet's rim.

"Albus Potter," she said, "Our final Slytherin contestant."

Albus moved out from his chair and stood beside the Slytherin table for a moment, trying to steady himself as the weight of his actions folded in on him. But then Lily leaned back and stared at him, her eyes wide and full of both fear and relief. Albus started towards her down the length of the table.

"Al -" she mouthed without sound, reaching out to him.

Albus bent down to push his nose into her bright red hair. "Hey Little Lils," he said quietly.

"It'll be alright. I promise."

"Come up, come up!" Carrow called.

Albus slipped from Lily's grasp and rounded the Slytherin table. Professor Malfoy nodded at him and Carrow bustled him the rest of the way to stand next to the three seventh years that had volunteered. Nott sneered down at him.

"Wonderful!" Carrow called out gleefully, patting Albus on the head and moving away.

Albus glanced out at the sea of students who were staring at him with a great mixing of expressions. His cousins, however, were all standing for him, silent and watchful, every single one of them. Slowly, others stood as well. First, family friends; the Longbottoms and Scamanders and Sean Wood and Luke Jordan. Then there were more, friends of friends and some of his classmates, though really, very few of his own house mates.  
None of them spoke, but all stood, staring at him in silent, obvious support.  
The spectacle seemed to strike Carrow speechless, for the woman just stared at the collective student body, over half of which were on their feet, for a long minute.

Albus sought out Lily and tried to give her a smile before he and the rest of the contestants would be herded away.

oOo

There was a short section of hallway between the anex of the Great Hall and the room that Albus was to go into. The door was shut and as the door to the Great Hall clicked closed behind him, Headmaster Snape gripped his arm tightly and spun him around to face him.

"What were you thinking?" Snape hissed.

Albus stared up at the man who was his namesake. He could count on one hand the amount of times Snape spoke directly with him. The dark man was not well liked amongst the students, but Albus's uncles all told of worse times, back when the man still taught classes and had access to them all on a much more regular basis. But Albus knew there had to be something - something - about the man. His father respected him enough to name his son for him after all.

"Fool boy," Snape hissed at him again when Albus didn't respond immediately.

Albus worked his jaw then managed to speak. "There's only one Lily," he said, staring at the dark eyes that were glaring down at him.

This seemed to make Snape pause, since the tall man straightened and his glare shifted to stunned inspection.

"I couldn't let her -" Albus shook his head sharply.

"Reckless idiot," Snape said, though there was no heat to the words and while he shook Albus by the arm, his grip loosened.

"I couldn't -"

"You think you have any more advantage?" Snape said rather snidely. Albus was still a little too stunned by his own actions and their results to rise to the bait, though, so Snape just continued. "Potters," he spat, "always putting their noses in to the middle of things. Your father was the same and its a miracle he didn't get himself killed in the first year of his schooling, not to mention all the subsequent years where his recklessness only multiplied."

The door back to the Great Hall opened, casting light across the pair in the hall. A near-silent flutter of wings preceded whoever stood in the doorway - Carrow likely, considering the haze of purple that Albus could see past the light. Blinking against the light, Albus felt the brush of air before he saw the white owl. Harfang settled on his shoulder like some sort of vengeful guardian, puffing up and staring down the Headmaster with a straightforward stare.

Albus blinked at the bird, rather surprised.

"Of course," Headmaster Snape said as if continuing some conversation the bird had only interrupted. He was staring at the owl with such intensity that Albus shivered in sympathy. Harfang didn't seem perturbed, however. "Potters tend to have either miraculous luck at surviving all odds, or complete abysmal luck where they die sudden, pitiful deaths."

Albus frowned, unsure about the turn in the conversation, but Snape didn't seem to be talking to him at all. Harfang slowly tilted his head to the side, watching Snape as intensely as the Headmaster watched the owl.

Snape sneered at the owl and looked at Albus. "I suppose we will be finding out which sort of Potter luck you have managed to inherit very soon, Albus Severus Potter."

oOo


End file.
